


Dualities

by Lyledebeast



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Introspection, Married Life, Married Sex, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyledebeast/pseuds/Lyledebeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian marries Guy due to her father's concerns for her safety, but continues to aid the people of Nottinghamshire as the Night Watchman with the assistance of her best friend, Much.</p><p>Will she be able to reconcile the roles of wife and hero, or will one win out over the other? And does Guy also have another side of which she is unaware?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marian's Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Some canonical events remain, but most have been changed as this is an overwrite of canon. A few other canonical characters may appear in cameos, but I'm not 100% decided on which ones.
> 
> Most notably, the show's titular character is absent. He's not dead, nor is he in the Holy Land. His words have disappeared, his house has disappeared, his name has disappeared, all memory of him has disappeared.*
> 
> As the tags indicate, there will be sexual content in some chapters. I am willing to put notes on chapters that contain such content to make it easier to avoid it if anyone wants to request them.
> 
> *I have shamelessly borrowed and adapted Sansa's famous words from 6x9 of Game of Thrones for my own use, just as I've borrowed and adapted all these characters from the BBC and Tiger Aspect Productions for my own use. I own none of this.

“Sir Guy is a man of property and position in society,” her father said sternly.  “And he cares for you. He’ll try to be good to you. You could do a lot worse.”

“That’s true.  I could marry the Sheriff,” Marian snapped in reply.

Sir Edward’s brow grew heavy and his face seemed to gain more lines before her eyes.  It hurt her to know how much she frustrated him, but the idea of marrying the sheriff’s lackey was so repellant to her.

“Listen, my love,” he replied softly.  “I know this isn’t what you want.  And it’s not the kind of match I’ve dreamed of for you, but this is the reality we live in.  You are a gentlewoman, and that comes with certain privileges.  If you were a peasant woman, you wouldn’t have the opportunity to learn how to use a bow or a sword.  You wouldn’t have the position that allows you to help people as you do.”

Marian sighed, but said no more.  She knew there was truth in her father’s words, even if she didn’t like the direction they were taking.

“But that privilege comes at a price, and the price is that you must marry a nobleman,” he went on. “I’m old, Marian.”

She opened her mouth to object, but he lifted a hand to silence her.

“I know.  I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s the truth.  And my health is failing.  What would happen to you if I died and you were still unmarried?”

Marian frowned.  She was sure she would find a way to survive; she had means and talents beyond what her father knew.  But it wouldn’t be easy.

“Your mother was not too enthusiastic about marrying me, you know.”

That peaked her interest, and she looked up at him again, her eyes widening.  She often asked him to tell her about her mother, who had died when she was only three, but he had never told her that before.

“I didn’t, Father.”

“Well, she wasn’t! She was . . . independent.” He smiled sadly.  “Like you.  Her parents and I arranged he marriage.  I had just been made Sheriff, and I had admired Kate for a long time.  I knew she didn’t love me when we married.  And I wasn’t truly in love with her at the time, but I knew her and her family, and I thought she would make a good wife. And I was right.”

He paused and looked into the distance wistfully.  Marian felt a pang of remorse for how she had spoken to him earlier.  She knew that he didn’t like to think about the time just after he had lost her mother.  It hadn’t been easy for him, raising a daughter on his own, but he had always done his best for her.

“Were you happy together, Father?” she asked more gently.

He looked at her with confusion, as though she had startled him.  But after a few moments’ thought, he spoke again.

“It wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be; marriage seldom is.  But we . . . adapted to each other.  She . . . changed me in ways I didn’t expect.  Or, rather, she helped me see the world in different ways, and that made me want to change.  She always thought a woman should learn more than courtly manners and needlework.  She loved to ride, like you do, and she told me that she always wished she could have learned to fight, but her father forbade it.  He was a good man, but . . . domineering.”

Sir Edward gave his daughter a small smile.  “I didn’t want to be that kind of father.”

She wrapped her arms around him, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re not,” she assured him, “but . . . Sir Guy is nothing like you.  You were never cruel; you never punished anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

She felt her father’s chest rise and fall as he sighed.  “I made my fair share of mistakes.  And if Sir Guy were the sheriff, who knows what kind of man he would be? But he’s not, and the man he serves is cruel. Sir Guy has to obey him, Marian.”

She released him, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

“There’s more to his cruelty than just obeying the sheriff,” she pointed out, bearing in mind a servant girl named Annie whom she had just helped to find a new position. It hadn’t been easy to find a lady who would take her on; she had given birth to Guy’s illegitimate child only a few months before. But her father didn’t know about any of that.

“Besides,” Sir Edward continued. “The sheriff is the only influence on him now.  If you marry him, that will no longer be the case.”

Marian frowned.  “So it will be my job to change him? To make him a better man?” she scoffed.

Her father shook his head.  “No dearest.  You can’t make him change if he doesn’t want to.  But, consider this.  He wants to marry you.  Not some thoughtless young woman who only cares about fine clothes and getting a man who can afford them.  He wants to marry my opinionated, outspoken daughter.” At just that moment, a servant summoned them to dinner. As the turned towards the dining table, Marian heard her father chuckle softly.  “I think that shows some promise,” he murmured to himself.

* * *

“Are you sure this is what you want,” Much questioned for at least the third time since Marian had arrived at their secluded meeting place in the forest.

“It’s not about what I want, as I’ve told you before,” she said sharply.  “If it were, I wouldn’t be helping people like this, in disguise, at night! If I had what I wanted, my father would still be sheriff, and Vaisey and Gisborne would go back to wherever they came from!”

“Sorry,” he replied, looking away and pressing his lips together tightly, as though trying to restrain himself from offering further unwanted cautioning.  Marian put her hand on his shoulder and forced a little smile onto her lips when he met her gaze.  It was frustrating, but she knew better than to take it out on her friend.

“I wish people didn’t need our protection from them, but I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I just don’t see a way out of it, Much.” She had considered her father’s words many times over the past few weeks, and had just given Sir Guy her answer the previous afternoon.

“But . . . he’s so evil, Marian! I know your father thinks he can protect you from the sheriff, and save you from . . . further punishment.”

He couldn’t stop himself from looking at her shorn hair, the result of having defied the sheriff’s prohibition on feeding the inhabitants of Clun, which he had quarantined on insufficient information a few weeks earlier. She didn’t care about the loss of her hair; it was being publically humiliated that had stung.

“Sometimes I think it bothers you more than me,” she told Much, trying to lighten the mood.

His brows furrowed in confusion.  “So, that’s not the reason why you . . . changed your mind?”

“What, about becoming Lady Gisborne? God, no! If losing my hair was the only thing I had to fear from the two of them was losing my hair, I’d just shave my head bald and have done with them! But it’s not that simple, Much. My father . . .”

“He wouldn’t make you marry him against your will, Marian.  You know he wouldn’t!” Much insisted.

Marian sighed again.  “No.  No one’s forcing me.  And I . . . I’d like to keep it that way. Besides, maybe there are things I can do to help people as lady of my own manor that I’m not able to do now without drawing attention to my father.  Gisborne will be away often; once I get to know his servants and peasants, who knows?”

Her friend remained unconvinced.  “Well, he may be gone often, but not always.  You’ll have to see him sometimes.  You’ll have to . . . what if he hurts you?” he asked, his face suddenly blanching with alarm. “You remember what happened to poor Annie.”

She frowned, considering her answer carefully.  It was something that had occurred to her as well.  She knew nothing of marriage, but she sometimes heard whispers of unpleasant stories from servants.  Certainly, some husbands treated their wives badly, yet she found herself doubting that Gisborne would be that kind of man.  Certainly, when he was with the sheriff he appeared stern, proud, and cold, but when he came to visit her and her father? He was nervous, as though he didn’t know what to do with himself.  If he were more debonair, she might have more to worry about, but he would need to be a good actor indeed if his awkwardness was a sham. If he were trying to deceive them, wouldn’t he seem more confident? But she doubted she could make Much understand that.

“Well . . . it’s not as though I haven’t fought him off before,” she offered feebly.

“Yeah, as the Night Watchman!” Much cried.  “Not as Lady Gisborne! If you’re his wife, he’ll expect you to submit to him.”

Marian felt her heart sink at the last word; it was what she had feared most from the moment Gisborne had asked for her hand.  No, she couldn’t see that happening, but maybe things would be quite different after the wedding? If she were honest, she had no idea what he really wanted from her.

“Well, if we’re married, he won’t throw me out if I become pregnant.  That’s the whole point of the marriage,” she said dully.  Somehow that sounded even more depressing out loud than it had in her head; her mouth twisted into a grimace.

But she would have to think about that more later; now, she had to keep Much from worrying enough to do something rash.  Though she was the daughter of a lord, and he the son of a miller, they had been friends since she could walk, and he had always sought to help and protect her as though she were his younger sister. His feelings has always been transparent to her, and she could see anxiety written in every line of his face as he frowned down at her.

She gave a shrug.  “Well, my father tells me that no one gets exactly what they expect from marriage. I think Sir Guy may find that to be the case too.”

For a moment, she thought Much was appeased.  He got up and went to open the sack hanging from his saddle, making sure he had packed all the food he and Marian were about to deliver.   Then suddenly, he turned to her.

“What will become of the Night Watchman when you’re married?” he blurted out.  For a moment, she was taken aback; where had this come from? But then it all seemed so clear. Much had asked her to meet him out here, rather than coming to the house, because he was concerned about her, but also about the work they had been doing almost since the new sheriff’s rise to power.  He was instrumental in helping her, but she doubted his nerves were strong enough for him to carry on without her. And even if he did, he certainly didn’t have her skill as a fighter.  What would become of him, and the people who needed them both, if she shut the door on that part of her life forever?

“I don’t know, Much,” she said softly.  “I wish I could give you an answer, but I have to think.”

* * *

She thought about little else in the private moments she had over the next few days, but she had few enough of those.  If her mother were alive, or if she had any female relatives who lived nearby, they would help her with the preparations for the wedding, but she had no one.  It was part of the reason why the wedding was to take place so quickly; there was no one whose journey could justify postponing it.

Her dress was one that she had made herself, a deep green silk, and the veil was the one her mother had worn.  She had intended simply wear her short hair down underneath, but Margery, the wife of Gisborne’s steward, had insisted on arranging her hair for the wedding as soon as she heard of those plans.

“You’ll only get married once, my love,” she had insisted, “and you’ll want to look your best.”

“What I want is to have it done with as soon as possible,” Marian had thought, sullenly, but she tried to show appreciation.  The woman was only trying to help, and she did need all the help she could get.  In hindsight, though, she would not have agreed if she had known that it meant going to Gisborne Manor on the night before the wedding to choose a style. 

Margery spent hours arranging her short hair in different ways, adding extensions and ornaments of all kinds, exhausting Marian’s patience.  Still, she tried to bear it well.  As she combed and arranged, Margery told her about her six sons, ranging in age from five to eighteen.  The eldest was still unmarried, so she had not even a daughter in law to her name.  And she adored weddings.  By the time Margery chose the style she preferred, which thankfully only involved one hairpiece, Marian didn’t know how she was going to survive even one wedding.  All this trouble over something she didn’t even want.

“Now, make sure you don’t move around too much tonight when you go to bed,” the older woman cautioned.  “You don’t want to pull it all out in the night.  Though of course you may find it difficult to sleep anyway,” she said with a conspiratorial wink.  “Brides to be often do.”

“I’m sure that’s so,” Marian replied, trying to keep her smile friendly.  There were many things she was certain would keep her awake that night, but excitement was not one of them.

As she made her way to the front door, she was almost ready to count herself lucky.  She had spent far more time at Gisborne than she would have liked on her last night as a free woman, but at least she had avoided . . .

“Marian, wait,” came a soft, deep voice behind her.  She sighed with frustration as she turned to face the master of the house.

“Good evening, Sir Guy.”

He stepped towards her slowly, his hands behind his back.  She eyed him with suspicion; what could he possibly want from her now?

“I . . . I wanted to make sure you were alright. That you have everything you need.”

“I think so,” she replied in a flat tone.

He lifted a corner of his mouth.  “Good.  I’m glad.” He turned and looked at the fireplace, unlit due to the summer’s heat, remaining silent for so long that Marian considered simply continuing on her way, but something held her in place.

“I just,” he finally continued, falteringly.  “I wanted to tell you how much I’m looking forward to tomorrow.  I’m so happy to have you coming to Gisborne and I hope . . .”

He glanced at her for a moment and trailed off, looking back at the fire place.

Marian blinked in annoyance.  “You hope that I won’t change my mind? Don’t worry, Sir Guy. I’m resigned.”

He glanced at her again, wincing this time, and she suddenly regretted her choice of phrase.  Surely it was impolitic to make her disappointment with her husband to be so blatant, but she didn’t know what else to say.  If she told him that she was looking forward to it also, it would be a lie.  And that would make her feel even worse. Not knowing what else to do, she glanced up at him, waiting for a reprieve.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Sir Guy.  I’m tired; please excuse my rudeness.”

He gave her a tiny smile.  “Certainly.  I won’t keep you from your bed any longer.  I . . . hope you sleep well.”

At that he stepped closer to her and leaned down, bringing his face uncomfortably close to hers.  She felt the tension creep into her back and shoulders, and suddenly felt quite naked without her sword.  It was not the first time he had tried to kiss her, but she was more accustomed to this proximity when she had encountered him as the Night Watchman.  As she turned her face to the side, offering him her cheek, she wondered if she could ever be so close to him without reacting as though he was trying to kill her.

“Goodnight, Sir Guy,” she said tersely, turning for the door again. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder

“Will you call me ‘Guy,’ from now on, please?” he asked in a soft, almost whisper.  “I . . . we’re about to be married, Marian.  I don’t want you to feel so formal around me.”

She turned in his grasp, peering up at him warily.  This was not what she expected.  She thought he would become more imperious as the wedding drew nearer.  Hadn’t he already won her consent? What more could he want?

“Fine.  ‘Guy’ it is. Goodnight.” This time, he allowed her to walk away, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

True to her expectations, Marian found it impossible to sleep that night. She had dismissed her maid early to pack the rest of her belongings herself.  When she reached into the back of her closet and pulled out the breeches and vest that made up her Night Watchman outfit, such a powerful wave of grief crashed over her that she had to sit down on her bed, tears gathering in her eyes.

Gathering her resolve, she crept downstairs to the small fire.  She tiptoed softly past her father’s room.  She had slept alone in the solar for years now; her father got so cold at night that he needed to sleep near the fire, even in the dead of summer.  Seating herself in front of it, she took the mask and held it towards the flames. As soon as the thin leather began to smoke, though, she snatched it back, laying it on top of the vest and clutching the whole bundle to her chest with a pained gasp.

She couldn’t do it.  If she burned her outfit, she could never be the Night Watchman again, and that was unthinkable.  The people most hurt by the sheriff’s ruthlessness needed her.  Much needed her.  She would put the outfit in her trunk with her other clothes, and if Gisborne found it and punished her, so be it.  No punishment could be worse than the knowledge that others were suffering because of her selfishness.  For a few hours, she reveled in her newfound determination, even forming new plans.

But as the flames died down in the early hours of her wedding day, a feeling of unease came over her.  It wouldn’t be easy, sneaking out at night when Gisborne was at home.  What excuses would she give him? She could already imagine her life as Lady Gisborne made up of one lie after another, and not much else.  It made her laugh to think that she was marrying this man for her safety; she would be in more danger than ever before, and with no safe home to escape to! Would it be worth it to keep this self, her true self, alive? She hoped so.  After all, without the work the Night Watchman carried out, who was she?


	2. The Wedding Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up fairly quickly in this chapter; it is Guy and Marian's wedding night, after all. The one they should have had! (Sorry, I have a lot of feelings about the RH finales. The season 3 one where half the main characters die is the least distressing for me.)
> 
> The next chapter will be rather spicy too. I'm happy to provide further content warnings if anyone would like them, but I'll probably discontinue them after this chapter if no one asks.

The day of the wedding passed in a blur for Marian.  She was grateful for her veil, it allowed her to conceal what she was feeling.  Or, rather, the lack of feeling; resignation to her fate had left her numb.  She went through the motions of taking her vows, allowing Guy to kiss her lips, and greeting the guests.  Many were people to whom she had never spoken, and that made it easier.  They would have no expectations of her. There had only been two moments during the day that had broken through the ice to make her feel something: one was the dread that stole over her when her father left with their steward after greeting her and kissing her cheek.  He had looked so frail, and she wasn’t sure if it was the strain of being away from Knighton for so long, or distress over what she was doing.  She had found the possible distress contagious, and took her leave of the guests shortly after.

The first incident, ironically, had been just after she and her father arrived at Gisborne in their carriage for the wedding.  When she stepped out, Guy was there to greet her.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she scolded him, dully.  “You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding.”

He hung his head, embarrassed.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”

“Haven’t you ever been to a wedding?”

“No,” he replied, meeting her eyes briefly before glancing away again.  Marian frowned in confusion.  How had he reached his age—he was nine years older than she—without having been to a wedding? She had been to three, and she was an only child with no nearby family!

Guy seemed to take her frown as a sign of displeasure, for he looked around rapidly at the buildings surrounding them, fingering his gloves nervously.

“I hope the decorations please you,” he said suddenly.

Marian struggled not to roll her eyes; it was best to just humor him, she decided.  To get this over with as soon as possible. “I do.”

When her eyes met his again, though, there was something unexpectedly vulnerable in them.

“I hope I please you,” he murmured softly.

She didn’t know how to respond to that.  Seemingly out of nowhere, she began to think about how much thought he must have put into making the day go smoothly, especially given that he seemed to know nothing about weddings.  He wanted the marriage far more than she did, but that didn’t necessarily mean that the day had been less stressful for him.  In fact, perhaps it had even been more so.

“You do,” she said, trying to make her voice as gentle as possible.  It wasn’t exactly true, but in that moment she could not deny feeling some sympathy for him.

As she waited for him to come up to bed, though, the feeling of sympathy had vanished.  She was worried about what would happen now that she was, in the eyes of the Church and law at least, his. Would he force himself on her? Would it be painful even if he didn’t? And could she even find it in herself to consent to what he no doubt wanted to do to her?

She had too many questions, and she was out of time to plan.  As she heard Guy’s boots on the steps below the solar, she found herself rushing for her trunk in panic and pulling out a small knife.  It was one that she always carried with her on her Night Watchman capers, and thought she mostly used it to cut through cloth or rope, it could just as easily be used for protection.  She hid it under the pillow on the side of the bed nearest the door, praying that she wouldn’t have to use it.

She was just trying to decide whether she should sit on the bed or not when Guy entered the chamber.  When he saw her his eyes widened at her undress, and she found herself grateful once again that she had chosen a dark, concealing shift.  Still, she couldn’t help but be self-conscious of how bare she was; her shift held up only by thick straps over her shoulders, leaving her arms and much of her chest exposed.

Guy had removed his jacket and scarf after the ceremony, and no wonder.  She couldn’t imagine how he stood so many layers of black in this heat.  Yet as unsettling as the disparity in their clothing was, she only felt her heartrate quicken more when he began to undo the clasps on his vest, pulling it off to reveal his dark undershirt underneath. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull his boots off, with some difficulty.  It occurred to her that, as he wife, she should be helping with that, but she couldn’t bring herself to move in his direction.  Helping him would only hasten the inevitable, and she wanted to buy herself every moment that she could.

Once his boots were on the floor, he looked at her again.  She was still standing in the same spot, but under his scrutiny she finally sat down on the bed, hoping to feel less on display then.  But when she met his gaze, she was surprised to find that he was staring not at her bare skin but at her hair.

“I like it better like this,” he said softly.

She felt a flush of anger creep into her cheeks; he liked seeing the evidence of her humiliation?

“Why?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Because . . . it’s all you.  Just as you are.” And then he reached for her.

She was trying to make sense of his words, but when she felt his fingers brush gently against the side of her neck just underneath her hair, she gasped in surprise and sat back, out of his reach.

Guy’s face fell, and he withdrew his hand with a sigh.  “You’re frightened,” he murmured.

Marian felt her back stiffen at that.  She was not afraid of him; she had never been and never would be.  “I’m not!” she snapped, suddenly wishing she sounded less petulant.

For a moment, she found his expression unreadable.  He was watching her with what appeared to be a mixture of disappointment and anxiety.  The color had drained from his face, but he was frowning deeply, his brow furrowed. She thought back to the first time she had seen him that day.  He had been so eager to please her then; had that changed?

He stood up suddenly, startling her so much that she moved back until her shoulders pressed against the headboard.  She glanced quickly from Guy to the window, wondering if she could jump from it without injury, but the he did something that shocked her more than anything else had.

He knelt on the floor in front of her and reached for her hand. Hesitantly, she gave it to him.

“Listen to me, Marian,” he said, stroking her knuckles with his thumb as he spoke. “You have nothing to fear from me.  I know you . . . don’t have the highest regard for me.  I know I’ve done many things you disapprove of.  And I know it will . . . take time for you to get used to the idea of being married to me.”

Here he paused and looked down as though waiting for a response.  She tried to think, but words would not come.  It had been her belief that Guy had been completely ignorant of her feelings about their marriage, but clearly he was more observant than she had given him credit for.

After a moment, he continued. “I know this isn’t what you wanted but . . . in time, I hope you will come to . . . not regret it.” He seemed to choose the last word carefully, as though he thought that anything better than the mere lack of regret were impossible.

“I . . . I mean to be a good husband, Marian.  I want to please you, in whatever way you’ll let me.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise.  Was this the same imperious Guy of Gisborne who ordered peasants around every day? Who had committed God knew how many murders for the sheriff?

“Whatever way I’ll let you?” she asked in disbelief.  She hadn’t expected to have a say in anything once she married him.  Except what she did in his absence, that was.

He blinked at her in confusion, as though uncertain as to how she could misunderstand him. He released her hand. “Marian, what did you expect to happen here tonight?”

Again, she found herself dumbstruck.  Now that it appeared he did not want to hurt her, she realized how afraid she had been.  She glanced at her pillow, under which her knife lay hidden.  Why would she put it there if she hadn’t been afraid? Now it seemed like an excessive precaution, to say the least.

“I . . . um . . . I wasn’t sure,” she forced out.  “I suppose I thought you would . . . see me as yours and . . . just do as you pleased.”

Guy sighed and looked down.  She could tell that he was disappointed, but unsurprised, and that knowledge filled her with an inexplicable sadness.  If he had been forceful and uncaring, she would know how to respond. But she didn’t know what to say to this gentle, sensitive man who had so unexpectedly presented himself to her.

He stood up and walked to the window, looking up at the night sky. Marian turned, raising her legs to the bed and pressing her back flat against the headboard as she waited. Without turning around, Guy said,

“I can understand why you think that.  The sheriff told me that you were mine.  That I could do whatever I wanted and you couldn’t say no.”

Marian felt her face twist into a grimace and her nostrils flare in rage.  Yes, she could well imagine Vaisey saying that.

“But I don’t agree,” he went on.  Her ears perked; she had never known Guy to disagree with the sheriff about anything.

“I want us to be happy together.  I want you to be happy with me, in your own time.  And that can never happen if I . . . if I make you hate me on our first night together.”

He paused there, and the longer his silence lasted, the more inquisitive Marian became.  She had no idea what he might say next.

“So?” she said, hoping it sounded encouraging rather than dismissive. It must have had the desired effect, because he turned to face her.

“So, I leave it to you to decide what will happen tonight.  If you want me to sleep somewhere else, I will.  But if you want me to stay . . .”

He trailed off, as if afraid that even offering another option would put too much pressure on her.

“Just, give me a moment to think,” she pleaded.  The possibilities overwhelmed her.  She knew that, eventually, she would have to give herself to Guy.  That was an inevitability of marriage.  But a night in which she could make the decisions? That was a privilege few new brides had; she was certain of that.

“If I want you to remain here,” she asked cautiously, “does that mean you’ll do as I say?”

He gave her a little smile, nervous but determined.  “Anything.  Anything you want from me, I’ll do it.  And anything you want to do to me.”

Marian expect a qualification to follow that.  “Within reason,” perhaps.  But none came.  She could think of several things the Night Watchman might ask for.  Things related to the sheriff or his orders.  She could ask Guy to tell her who he planned to punish next, or when he would inflate taxes again.  But she wasn’t in that role now; she was Lady Gisborne, even if it had only been for a few hours. What would Lady Gisborne want?

“Stay,” she found herself saying.  “Take your clothes off, and lie down here next to me.”

She could hardly believe her own audacity. A clothed Guy was unfamiliar enough; what was she to do with a naked one?

He glanced at her wide-eyed for a moment, as though he wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly.  But before she could repeat herself, he lifted the bottom hem of his undershirt and lifted it over his head, dropping it on the floor.  Marian heard herself gasp.  She had seen men naked from the waist up before, but never this close.  And certainly never at her orders.

Though she had ordered it, she felt a heat like that of embarrassment spread across her face, and as she took in the sight of him. Like embarrassment, but not quite; it was a feeling she couldn’t quite place.  It felt wrong to be looking at him like this, but she couldn’t look away.

She knew he was large of course, but she hadn’t expected such toned muscles.  Recalling the fights they’d had when he came upon her as the Night Watchman, she saw how lucky it was that she was so much quicker than he.  There was power behind his blows and thrusts, as she could see now in his defined chest and shoulders.  And yet she realized that her fear had completely vanished.  She found herself leaning towards him for a closer look.  His body was strong, but inviting; she wondered if his skin was as soft as it looked.

He had paused, as though waiting for her permission to continue, but when she leaned forward he reached down to open the laces of his breeches.  Pulling them down at the waist, he lifted each foot in turn, stripping them off completely.  Marian watched, transfixed as he sat down on the bed at her feet to pull off his socks. Completely naked, he glanced up at her, seemingly having forgotten her further instructions.

Her mouth felt drier than wine had ever made it.  The heat from her cheeks had spread down her neck and underneath her shift.  But she saw not a trace of embarrassment in him; his skin looked as pale as marble almost everywhere.  But there was no brash confidence either; his darkened eyes seemed to be almost pleading for her approval. She turned onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow to make room for him.

It wasn’t until he stretched out on his back next to her that she could tell how nervous he was. When she placed a hand on his shoulder, she discovered that he was trembling.  His breath quickened when she moved her hand to the center of his chest to stroke down the line dividing his pectoral muscles, and she could feel his heart pounding.

“Are you frightened?” she asked, self-conscious when she realized how breathless she sounded.  She was supposed to have the power in this situation, but she felt her sense of control fraying. Her hand wandered lower and Guy gave a soft gasp when she touched his flat belly, just above the navel.

“Are you?” she asked again.  This time, he answered only with rapid blinking of his eyelashes as he looked down his body, past where her hand was lying.  Her eyes had just followed his gaze to its destination when she gave a gasp of her own.  She hadn’t been looking for his cock as he undressed, but now it was impossible to miss.  His erection was standing up between his thighs, flushed a dusky pink, its tip just beginning to peak out from underneath his foreskin, shiny with moisture.  Without thinking, she reached towards it, but her hand fell short, landing on the muscular ridge of his groin.

Even that was enough to make him whine and writhe; she moved her hand away and sought his eyes, concerned.

“Does that . . . hurt?” she asked timidly.

His eyes were shut tight, but he shook his head.   “No.  It’s just . . . sensitive. Keep . . . you can keep touching me.”

Marian stood up and pulled the bottom of her shift above her knees so she could kneel on the bed next to him, looking down.  She stroked lightly up his inner thigh and found that it, too, was trembling.  When she brushed her fingers over the curve of his groin on the other side, he shut his eyes tightly and gave a shuddering sigh.  She repeated the movement before resting her hands on his hips.  Looking between them, she saw that his cock had grown further, so stiff now that it was almost flat against his belly.  When she reached for it this time her hand was trembling too, and her own heart was beating faster.  It looked so painfully swollen that she wasn’t sure he would want it touched.

Instead, she buried her fingers in the dark hair at its base and, tugging gently.  He jerked as though she had stabbed him, thrusting his hips towards her with a loud groan.

“I’m sorry!” she cried.  “I . . . I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

Guy was panting so hard that it was several seconds before he could answer her.  “You didn’t . . . that didn’t hurt me,” he said breathily.  “It’s just . . . you just . . . God, Marian, please touch me.  Please,” he begged.

She found herself struggling to breathe or think clearly.  An unfamiliar heat spread through her core at the desperation in his voice, concentrating between her legs.  She sat down, leaning on her hip for better access, but she still couldn’t bring herself to touch him where he so badly needed it.

Instead, she reached for his hand, guiding it down.

“Show me.”

Nodding in understanding, Guy cupped the back of her hand in his palm, wrapping both snugly around the base of his erection.  Marian gasped again as she felt it throb against her palm.  The tough seemed too tight, too rough, but it made Guy moan into her ear. He was sitting up behind her, his chest pressing against her shoulder as he guided her hand up and down.  In spite of the intimacy of what they were doing, Marian couldn’t help feeling that he was too close.  He was certainly having too much of an effect on her; she was aware of her breast shaking with each movement of her arm and she was growing uncomfortably swollen and damp between her legs.

“I think I have it now,” she said, turning to him.  “Can you . . . lie back?”

Guy did as she said, leaning back on his elbows, but watching her closely.  The movement broke her grip and she shifted to face him, taking his cock in her hand at different, more comfortable angle. This time, when she reached his tip, she made an experimental pass over it with her hand. He hissed and knit his eyebrow in a grimace, but his cock throbbed in response.  She decided that was a good reaction and did it again, this time giving a little cry of surprise when she found her palm coated with a gush of fluid. She looked at Guy questioningly.

“It’s fine,” he breathed out before moaning again as she continued to stroke.   
“I’m just . . . close.”

“Close to what?” she asked, though she could see from his flushed face and the way he was biting his lower lip that this was no time for conversation.

“You’ll see,” he said, opening his mouth wide and squeezing his eyes closed when she passed over his tip again.

She pulled her hand up and down his length twice more and he his whole body went stiff before it began to jerk, white ribbons of liquid spurting from his cock with each twitch, again and again.  Marian watched, motionless and transfixed in awe as Guy’s body stilled and he collapsed.

“Was that . . . good?” she asked hesitantly a few seconds later.

Guy smiled at her, reaching up to brush his damp bangs back from his forehead.

“It was very good, darling.  You did so well,” he mumbled tiredly. “Thank you.”

Marian didn’t know how to respond to that.  Her initial thought was to thank him in turn, but as she looked down at her spend-covered hand, she had no idea why. When she looked at him again, his expression had changed from satisfaction to concern.  He got up and retrieved two linen cloths from his bedside table, wiping his belly and chest with one and offering the other to her.  As she cleaned her hand, she found it impossible to contain her curiosity.

“What does it feel like when you . . . when it . . . just then,” she asked falteringly.  From his face, she would have guessed he was in agony, but the sounds he had made . . .

He sat up and reached for her again, stroking her hair before gently cupping her neck in his palm and brushing his thumb down her cheek. This time, she made no move to get away.

“Would you like me to show you?”

When Guy kissed her, it was like nothing she had felt before, and far gentler than she expected.  He kissed her slowly, delicately, as though fearful that she might flee at too much pressure.  Given her behavior earlier, she could see why he thought so, but now she had no wish to be anywhere else.

He pulled her closer and she shuddered as her breasts brushed lightly against his chest.  Guy sat back, looking at her with concern, but when she moved towards him again he turned his face and kissed her neck, drawing another shudder and making her breath quicken even more.  When he clasped her bare arm in his hand he murmured against her skin.

“You’re strong,” he observed.  “Your arms are . . . they surprise me.”

Her eyes widened for an entirely different reason now.  What if he figured out the reason why she was so muscular? How long would it take him?

“I like it,” he said reassuringly, mistaking her silence for self-consciousness, but she said nothing in response, too busy working through imagined scenarios of unwanted questions.

She snapped out of her distraction when he slid his hand down to brush against the curve of her breast through her shift. It was such a light touch that it could have been accidental, but when she looked up at him the intense concentration in his face showed that he was thinking through each motion.  She watched, heart pounding in expectation as he lowered his head and kissed it, his lips finding her hard nipple through the dark fabric.  A soft “ah” came unexpectedly from the back of her throat, and she lifted a hand to comb the fingers through his hair, just behind his ear. He lifted a hand to her shoulder again, taking hold of the strap and pulling it down until her breast was free.  Then he took her nipple into the heat of his mouth. 

It was impossible to breathe; she felt too hot, but she only wanted to be even closer to him.  The place between her legs was aching now.  She wanted him to touch it, but how to ask? She couldn’t, not without sounding as desperate as he had been.  Instead, she reached up and tugged down the strap on her other shoulder, pulling the whole top down and exposing her other breast, hoping he would take the hint.  He moved to suckle her other nipple, raising his hand to cup and stroke the breast he had just left.  She moaned and lay back on the bed, giving him better access.  Never had she thought she would leave herself so open to her enemy, but the Night Watchman was far from her mind.

When Guy slipped a hand between her legs to cup the mound of her vulva through her gown, she bucked her hips against him.  She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, but she wanted it so desperately she couldn’t form words.

Guy’s eyes met hers, and she could see that they were wide and dark with lust.

“Marian, I . . . I want to kiss you again.  May I?”

Her heart sank with disappointment; surely they had gone beyond kissing at this stage.  But when he began to raise the bottom of her shift, she couldn’t nod hard enough.  Once Guy had lifted it to her navel, he spread her thighs tenderly with his hands and lay down between them, breathing warmly over her slit and making the sensitive nub at the top swell and her breath hitch.  He pressed light kisses to her belly just above the thatch of hair between her legs and the very tops of her thighs, almost close enough to touch her lips, but not quite.  She felt she could cry with frustration, and gave a fleeting sympathetic thought to the Guy of a few minutes past.  He was indeed going to show her how all of that had felt.

He moved in even closer, exhaling over her once more before flicking his tongue around the edges of her inner lips, forcing a soft cry from her throat.  She felt tension draw tight in her abdomen as he licked her again and again. When he finally licked the nub of her clitoris, she gave a soft cry and gripped the bedclothes tight in both fists.  The tension was almost unbearable as he continued licking, first up and down and then from side to side.  When he suckled her clit as he had her nipples earlier, something seemed to snap inside her, sending bursts of pleasure down her spine and through her arms and legs, over and over, leaving her shaking.

She was only dimly aware of herself, lying flat on her back, boneless with exhaustion.  It would be impossible for her to move even if she wanted to, but the thought didn’t bring the fear it always had in the past.  When she looked at Guy, he was smiling.  Not smugly as he sometimes did, but with complete satisfaction. He had wanted to please her, and he certainly had.

He made no effort to speak to her, and for a little while, she enjoyed the silence.  It allowed her to just feel, without the pressure of thinking of the right thing to say that had plagued her since she awoke that morning.  But, eventually, the quiet began to feel awkward.  She looked down at her bare breasts and suddenly felt too exposed. Quickly sitting up, she raised the top of her shift to cover them, and pulled the straps back up over her shoulders.  When he turned to Guy he had averted his gaze, and she felt momentarily touched that he would consider her modesty after having just seen more of her than she had ever seen of herself.

“Did you . . . did you enjoy that?” he inquired in a low voice, almost a whisper.

Marian quirked an eyebrow at his question.  There was no way she could deny it; she obviously had.  But why did he sound so uncertain.

“I did, Guy . . . I didn’t . . .” she paused, trying to hold back the first thought that had crossed her mind.

But her husband would not allow it. “You didn’t what, darling?”

She looked at him, pressing her lips together in concern.  “I didn’t really think you’d care if you gave me pleasure or not, now that you have me.”

Even before his face fell in hurt disappointment, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. He had done nothing but try to show her how much pleasing her meant to him, almost since she had agreed to marry him, and now he saw how little that meant to her.  Or he thought he did.  Marian cursed inwardly; of course such bluntness would wound his feelings.

What she didn’t expect was for him to get up and start getting dressed.

“Guy, wait.  Where are you . . .?”

“I’m going to sleep in one of the guest rooms,” he announced, more in resignation than anger.  “I’ll leave you to yourself, in peace,” he added.

Marian knew she should argue with him, that an apology now would make tomorrow easier, but she couldn’t find the energy.  All she could manage was a listless “thank you” before Guy picked up his boots and left, closing the door slowly behind him.

She lay her head back on the pillow with a sigh.  As she did, it shifted, and her knife, which had likely moved from its original place due to her and Guy’s movements, fell out onto the floor with a thud.  Marian reached down for it and had to fight back an urge to throw it against the wall in frustration.  How she wished she could have back all the time she had spent worrying about Guy.  It seemed as though the person who was going to cause her the most trouble in these circumstances was no one but herself.


	3. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, there is a lot of sex. I have nothing to say for myself, except that there won't be any in the next two chapters. Well, maybe not as much.
> 
> Also, updates will be sporadic in October; I've overburdened myself at work, and won't have as much free time. But don't worry that I'm abandoning this story if I don't update for a few weeks; it's too fun to write!

When Marian awoke the next morning, the room was already flooded with light from the great window.  She yawned and stretched, surprised to find that she had slept so well.  It was probably due to her lack of sleep the night before, she decided, choosing to ignore the thought that it might have to do with what Guy had done for her.  True to his word, he had never returned that night.  Unquestionably, that had been the biggest help to her sleeping well.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel a bit concerned about him as she got dressed.  He had been so caring the night before, much more caring than she expected, and she had enjoyed it.  But then what she said had been so cold.  “It was the truth,” she told herself; “it was his decision to leave.  I didn’t send him away.” But that didn’t seem to make her feel any better.

When she made her way downstairs, she saw Guy already at the table eating bread and stew.  It brought her to a halt, and she half considered going back upstairs before he saw her; she had expected him to be gone, carrying out the Sheriff’s orders, by this hour.

“Good morning, Marian,” he muttered softly without looking up.

“Too late,” she thought with a sigh.  “Good morning,” she replied.

“Would you like some food?” he asked, beaconing to the servant standing by the table.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, more to the girl than to Guy.

An awkward moment passed after she left.  “Did you sleep well?” Guy asked, this time venturing to glance up at her.

“I did, thank you.” She was about to ask him the same, but it only took a moment’s consideration of his face for her to see that he had not.  He looked tired and anxious; his lids were drooping over bloodshot eyes, and he had dark circles underneath them.

“Was the guest bed . . . uncomfortable?” she asked, not knowing how else to express her concern without making her husband self-conscious.

He shook his head.  “No, it’s not that . . . I just . . . I’m sorry, Marian.  About last night.”

Marian blinked with confusion. What could he be talking about? It was her thoughtless comment that had made him leave, wasn’t it? How could he blame himself for her behavior when he had been . . .  “What are you talking about, Guy?”

He looked away, embarrassed.  “I thought that if I could . . . could show you how much I wanted to please you, it would be enough.  But it wasn’t, and I understand that now.  I’m sorry if I . . . if I tried to rush you.”

Marian found her mind racing.  She had already said one stupid thing, and this had been the result.  But as much as she feared repeating her mistake, being honest seemed even more dangerous. And yet she didn’t know what else to do.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Guy.  I just wasn’t thinking clearly.  I hadn’t slept well the night before, and with the stress of the wedding . . . I should be the one apologizing.  I . . . wasn’t myself.

For the first time that morning, Guy turned to face her directly.  “Really? I didn’t upset you?” he ventured, timidly.

“No, I . . . I’m sure I’ll be better tonight.” Marian blushed at the implications of her own words, but Guy didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you,” he said, averting his eyes again.  “I was worried.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Marian thought, but she only smiled. Thankfully, he changed the subject.

“Do you have plans for this afternoon?”

Her brow furrowed again. She hadn’t even thought about that, but now that she was thinking, it seemed obvious.  “Aren’t we going to visit your tenants? If I’m going to be Lady Gisborne, don’t I need to know who they are?”

Guy frowned and looked away.  “The Sheriff did say that I could have today off, but.  I don’t know how much success you will have in getting to know them . . . if I come with you.  The people here . . . never really warmed to me.”

Marian wanted to reply that she could guess the reason for that, that it might have something to do with the sheriff’s fear tactics, but she kept her mouth shut.

“Alright, then.  I’ll go alone,” she said, unable to keep the chill out of her voice, even as Guy seemed to wince at it.  She looked at him for a moment, considering.  If tonight was to be more relaxed, she would have to start watching herself more closely now.

“I’ll be home in time for dinner,” she offered with a smile, sighing inwardly with relief when he returned it.

* * *

Her visits with the peasant wives of Gisborne were largely what Guy had given her to expect.  They had none of the attachment to him that she was certain Knighton’s peasants had to her and her father.  She could sense that they were holding back the truth, out of politeness, or fear, but they told her enough to gather that Guy was the sort of hard, uncaring master she expected.  One thing did surprise her, however, and that was how pleased the women seemed to be that he had married, and moreover, that he had chosen to marry her.

“Ever since the sheriff had your hair cut, when you tried to help the people of Clun, folks have been talking about you, milady,” one woman had said.  “To tell the truth, Sir Guy barely pays any attention to us at all, unless we give offense in some way.  But now that you’re here, well, it’s a cheering thought. You’re not like him; you wouldn’t be visiting us if you were.” It left Marian both self-conscious and flattered.  Her servants at Knighton were certainly proud of her, she knew, but to find that these strangers had such high hopes for her made her determined not to let them down.  Improving their lives was one task that Lady Gisborne could take on willingly.  But, if she was going to have the influence on Guy that they wanted her to have, it would not be enough to tolerate him.  She would have to convince him that she was content with her new role, and make sure that he stayed content with her.

She returned to Gisborne Manor at nightfall, when the men started to come in from the fields for their supper. When she asked the servant who had waited on her at breakfast, and brought her supper, she learned that Guy had decided to go to the castle after all.  Her first reaction was one of disappointment; could he not stay away for even one day? But then, she supposed he didn’t get along any better with his house servants than he did with his peasants.  She sighed as she readied herself for bed; this task of getting him to care about his people was not going to be easy.

By the time she heard Guy’s boots on the stairs, she had decided that the less she talked to him about the day’s events, the better things would go that night.

She almost thought he looked a little ashamed of himself when he opened the bedroom door.  Even after the events of the night before, he was blushing slightly, and couldn’t quite meet her eyes.

“I visited all of the women and children who were still at home today,” she blurted before Guy could speak.  “They were very welcoming.”

Guy gave her a little smile, clearly pleased, but confused as to what that could have to do with him.  “I’m glad,” he offered.

It wasn’t much, but it would have to do, she supposed.  “Listen, Guy,” she went on, slowly.  She had given what she was about to do considerable thought, yet she was still nervous.  “I want to . . . try to make up last night to you.  I was . . . nervous.  But now I know that you . . . don’t want to hurt me.” The last part was the most difficult to say.  He had tried to hurt her, unknowingly, many times before.  And he had never succeeded.

Without another word, she pulled down the straps holding up her shift and dropped it to the floor, stepping out of the loose material without bothering to pick it up.  She climbed onto the bed and stretched out on her back.  It wasn’t until she looked at Guy that she felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment.  He was still standing just where he had entered, the heavy door shut just behind him, his eyes wide and his mouth open as he looked down at her.

“Well?” she said impatiently.  “Are you coming to bed, Guy?” For a fleeting moment, she considered that this might have been too overt for him.  The previous night had revealed him to be both shy and sensitive. Her heart began to race; had she made another tremendous mistake already?

He came towards her so quickly that she feared he would trip and fall.  His still clothed body covered hers and he trailed kisses down her neck and over her breasts with less finesse than before.  As her excitement at his touch made her bold, she slid her hands up to work at the fastenings of his jacket, but to no avail.  He didn’t even seem to notice her effort.  Finally, she buried one hand in his hair and pressed the other against his chest, pushing and pulling him back firmly.

When he looked up at her, the panic on his face almost made her smile.  Did he really think she would stop him? Perhaps she would someday, but it would not be this one.  Not for long, anyway.

She sat back, wrapping her arms around her legs and pressing her breasts against her thighs.

“I won’t let you touch me again until you take some of those clothes off.”

He sighed audibly with relief and gave her a wide smile.  “Only some of them?”

She nodded.  “It will take too long to get them all off.  I just . . . I want to be able to touch your skin.”

Her blush darkened at her own words; she hadn’t planned on saying that.  And yet it had the effect she wanted.  Guy’s fingers flew over the clasps of his jacket, undoing them with unbelievable speed.  Once his jacket was off, he pulled his undershirt over his head and dropped it on the floor before looking at her questioningly. In answer, she leaned back on her elbows, spreading her legs.

In this, too, Guy was less delicate than before, nipping at the insides of her thighs and suckling at her lips before dipping his tongue inside her.  As she grew more excited, raising her hips towards his mouth, his own movements grew more erratic.  He rubbed his face against her, not only lips but his chin and the tip of his nose.  She found herself glad that he had shaved closely that morning.  When he finally licked over her clit, she surprised herself by crying out with pleasure.  Guy looked up with concern just long enough for her to notice the wetness covering his face.  Thinking of the first time she had touched his cock, when she had been so surprised by his dampness, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.  The mess was certainly well worth it from this perspective. 

Guy seemed to take her smile as permission to continue in earnest.  She was focused so intently on the sensation of his tongue and lips moving up and down her slit that she didn’t notice his hand moving in between her legs until the tip of one of his fingers entered her.  Gasping in surprise, she looked down.

“Relax, darling,” he murmured, his voice rough.  “It might feel a bit strange at first, but it will start to feel better.  If it doesn’t, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

After a moment’s thought, Marian nodded, exhaling soon after with relief as he began licking again, this time focusing more closely on her clit.  He slid his finger all the way in easily, and it did feel foreign, but not unpleasant.  She was just beginning to wonder why he wanted to touch her there when it was so much less sensitive than the outside when he curled his finger forward to press against something that was, well, not unsensitive.  She shifted her hips, curious, wanting to feel that again. As if to reward her, he suckled her clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over it until she was writhing.  When he slipped another finger inside her, pushing them both deeper and repeating the motion, she cried out again as he touched a spot that sent a burst of pleasure up her spine.  As he began to move his fingers in and out, licking and suckling continuously, she began to lose all awareness of anything besides the tension drawing tight inside her.  This time, her climax hit her with unexpected speed and power, and she found herself shaking with it, mouth opened wide and tears gathering in her eyes.

She was so caught up in her own pleasure that for a moment she didn’t understand why Guy was rubbing his groin so frantically against the mattress.  Then, with a deep groan, he shuddered too before lying still, raising a hand to cover his face.  And she realized that he had found the same release, and without a single touch from her.  It was a feeling that she was certain she had never experienced before: an odd mixture of disappointment and the thrill of power.

“Guy, are you alright?” she asked gently as she reached to brush her fingertips against his cheek.

“Don’t!” he snapped suddenly, rising on his hands and knees before collapsing onto his side.

“I’m sorry, Guy,” she cried, too confused to know how to feel.  What was wrong with him? He had been happy enough with her a few seconds before. “Did I upset you?”

Panting, he met her gaze.  As soon as his eyes focused on hers though, he looked down again.  He seemed ashamed.

“No, you’ve done nothing, Marian.  I just . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Guy,” she said as she lay a hand on his bare shoulder, smiling with relief when he let her.  It occurred to her that this was the first time she had touched his skin since asking him to undress.  She stroked across to the other shoulder and then down to the center of his back, hoping he would relax under her touch, but he remained just as tense as before.  When she reached the waist of his trousers, he gave another jolt and looked over his shoulder warningly before turning his back to her and lying on his side.

“What is the matter, Guy?” she asked.  “Why don’t you want me to touch you?”

He heaved a sigh and turned back in her direction, though he still refused to meet her eyes.

“It’s nothing, Marian.  I . . . I just got too overwhelmed and I . . .” Almost imperceptibly, he looked down at his groin.

“You . . . finished,” she replied uncertainly.  “Why does that upset you?”

He turned away from her again, but raised his palm in a helpless half-shrug.  “I don’t know, Marian.  I just . . . a man is supposed to have more control.  I should be able to pleasure you without . . . spending in my underclothes like a _boy_.”

Though he kept his voice low, he spat out the last word with a venom that surprised her.  She understood now that he wasn’t angry with her, but he clearly was angry.

“Guy, look at me,” she ordered, softly but firmly.

For a moment, she thought he was going to ignore her.  But then, slowly but surely, he turned back to face her. She placed a hand underneath his chin, raising his face until their eyes met.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Guy.  If you got yourself into such a state as this by pleasing me, well, I’m not going to complain about it.”

Her smile widened as he answered it with a small one of his own.  She cupped his jawline in her hand and brushed a thumb over his cheek.  “I don’t care about what men are supposed to do.  No one does what they’re supposed to do all the time.  This is . . . too small a thing for you to punish yourself over, yes?”

He averted his eyes, but nodded all the same.

“Good.  Now, let’s get your breeches off.”

His eyes widened at that.  “But, Marian, it’s . . . I’m . . . well, a mess.”

She chuckled as she brushed her thumb over his chin.  “Well, if you can stand the mess, I believe I can.”

While Guy pulled open his laces and stood up to get out of his trousers, Marian looked through the bedside table to find more linen cloths.  With one in hand, she turned around to find Guy lying on his back, fully naked, blushing almost from his face to his feet. Immediately, he reached for the cloth, but she held it out of his reach.

“No, let me.”

“Really, Marian, I can . . . you don’t have to.”

“I know,” she replied simply, reaching down to wipe away the spend that had soaked the dark hair around his cock. Then she moved down to catch the traces that had spilled in between his thighs, spreading them with her hands for better access. As she worked, she felt Guy exhale and lie back, fully relaxing for the first time since he had entered the room.  When she tried to wipe away the last remaining drop from the head of his cock, he jumped with a little pained gasp.

“Too sensitive,” he hissed.

“Sorry,” she said, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking.  How different he was, all soft and satisfied like this.

When he was fully clean, she dropped the cloth on top of Guy’s clothes and turn to look at him. He reached for her hand and pulled her down slowly to lie next to him.  It wasn’t until the side of her breast brushed against his chest that she remembered she was naked too; his vulnerability had, for a few moments, erased her own.  When he looked at him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, bringing her even closer to presses kisses first to her forehead, then to her lips.

She lay her head on his chest, and for a few moments, neither of them spoke. Marian realized that Guy had fallen asleep.  It wasn’t exactly what she expected, but she was glad all the same.  Perhaps being well rested would make him more ready to hear her plans.  She herself was still wide awake, but it was no trouble. It would give her time to think.  She wanted to ask him for a sum of money to keep for feeding the people in the event of a poor harvest, a measure the steward at Knighton had had in place for as long as she could remember, but did not seem to be available at Gisborne.  From what she had learned, any unexpected expenses, such as repairs to their cottages, that the tenants incurred had to be paid out of hand or done without.  She wanted to speak to Guy’s steward, but she wasn’t sure how her husband would react to that.

Before her marriage, she would have been appalled at discovering these conditions, and she would have told him so.  Perhaps kindness, and cunning, would accomplish more than righteous indignation, but she found her old ways of thinking persistent.  Guy saw his people only as a means to an end, and it wasn’t only his own people.  She couldn’t help turning her mind to Annie, wondering how she and Seth were settling into their new home. Guy’s selfish desire had almost ruined her life.

Perhaps it was unfortunate that he awakened at that moment, tightening his arm around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Sorry, darling,” he murmured, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I just . . .”

“You’re very good at that, you know,” she said evenly, without looking at him.

“Good at what?”

“At pleasing women.  You must have had a lot of practice.” At that, she did look up at him, and found his eyes full of concern.

“I . . . I suppose, yes,” he replied nervously.

“And . . . what we’ve been doing.  Is that . . . what you did with all of them?”

Guy looked away from her, raising his hand to rub over his face.  “No, I . . . I lay with them.”

Marian stared at him until he began to fidget, rubbing his fingers together nervously on his belly.  “I have no idea what that means, Guy.”

He sat up, pulling his arm back from around her shoulders.  “It means I . . . spent inside them,” he explained, turning his face away from her entirely.

“You haven’t done that with me,” she observed coldly.  “But then, I suppose what we’ve done isn’t what puts a child in a woman’s belly.”

Guy looked back at her, stricken.  “What’s this about, Marian?” She could hear the hurt in his voice, but it was too late to turn back now. 

“I want to know, did you give Annie as much pleasure as you give me? Or was she just here to serve you?”

This time, Guy sat up completely, turning away from her to the side of the bed and putting his feel on the floor.

“Why do you want to talk about Annie now, Marian? Do you want me to . . . ? How am I supposed to keep from upsetting you if I don’t know what it is that I’m doing?

She found herself blushing with embarrassment.  Why did she bring up Annie? That certainly hadn’t been part of her plan.

“I . . . I don’t know, Guy.  I suppose I’m just . . . a little jealous.”

She didn’t realize how true it was until she had said it out loud.  That was certainly a new feeling; before, she had only felt sorry for the poor woman.  And angry with Guy on her behalf.  So much had changed so quickly.

Guy sighed again, snapping her out of her epiphany.

“Marian, I think I’m just going to . . .”

He trailed off, but the flex of his arms as he started to push himself up from the bed told her what she needed to know.

“No, Guy, stop!” she entreated.  “Don’t leave.  Sleep here tonight.” She felt desperate, as though his fleeing his bedroom, their bedroom, two nights in a row would spell the end of her hopes before she could even begin to work for them.

He stilled, but made no move to lie back down any more than to get up.

Emboldened, Marian knelt behind him, wrapping an arm around his chest and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. When he turned his head to the side, she kissed his lips, lightly at first, but then again with more eagerness.  His eyes flew open in surprise, and it took her a few seconds to recall that it was the first time she had initiated a kiss.

“Lie down on your back again,” she said.

When he obeyed, she leaned over him, kissing his neck again and feeling his pulse throb with excitement under her lips.  He gave a little gasp of pleasure when she reached the hollow above his collar bone, and when she reached the center of his chest she felt his hand combing through her hair at the nape.  She gasped with surprise when he cupped the back of her head, dragging her mouth to his right nipple.  Guessing at what he wanted, she flicked her tongue over it and felt him inhale sharply.  She tried to suck it into her mouth, as he had done with hers, but it was difficult; his nipples were so small.  Taking the tiny nub between her teeth, she gave a gentle, experimental tug.   Guy groaned loud and arched his back, tightening his hand in her hair until it was almost painful.  She did the same to his other nipple and his hips bucked.  Releasing her hair, he reached down to cover her hips with his, pulling her down against him.  She felt his erection brush against her belly.

“That feels good, does it?” she asked with a smirk.

Guy could only nod, his mouth still slack with pleasure.

“Show me,” she demanded.

He slid his hands up to her ribcage, bending her backwards slightly as he sat up between her thighs.  She reached back with both hands to brace herself on the mattress between his legs.  Guy lowered his head, bringing his hands in to cup her breasts from the side and push them up and against each other, gently biting and tugging at her nipples until they were swollen and bright pink.  She felt lightheaded with pleasure, and her arms were shaking so badly she could barely hold herself up.

“Guy, I . . . I need lie down again.”

He lowered her slowly onto the bed and sat back on his heels, awaiting instructions.  She noted his erection, standing stiff and leaking between his thighs.  This time, she reached up and wrapped her hand around the base without hesitation, relishing the way it jerked in her grasp.

“I want you inside me,” she said.

“Are you sure,” he asked, his brows furrowed with concern.

She nodded.  “Yes, but . . . hurry.  Before I change my mind.”

Guy swallowed visibly, even as a smile stretched across his face.  “Trust me, darling.  This is not something you want to hurry.”

When he slowly pushed the blunt head of his cock inside her, she knew exactly what he meant.  It felt too big, so much thicker than his two fingers had been.  While not quite painful, it was certainly uncomfortable.  He inched forward cautiously, bracing himself on his arms.  She had just decided to tell him to stop, that it wouldn’t fit, when he drew in a deep, shaky breath. 

“That’s it . . . that’s as much as I can.  Are you alright?”

She nodded again. 

“I . . . I have to move now.  Is that . . .?”

“Yes.”

He thrust in and out, slowly at first, but gaining speed and confidence as she relaxed.  This wasn’t bad, Marian decided, but her arousal had faded to only a memory.  Guy, however, was transformed with pleasure.  He seemed to be fighting to keep his eyes open at first, but soon he could only close them.  Biting his lip kept him quiet, but she could feel his cock throb inside her with each thrust.  Within just a few minutes, his mouth opened wide as he cried out, spurting inside her again and again.  Then he collapsed onto her rolling onto his side and withdrawing his cock, letting some of his spend spill out onto the sheets.  Marian winced, not much at the odd feeling of emptiness but the thought of the mess dripping down between her thighs.  Though she supposed it was necessary.

She was just settling down next to Guy, finally sleepy, when he surprised her by speaking.

“I tried to be kind, Marian.”

“I’m sorry?” she replied.  She had no idea what he meant, and his voice was still raw with pleasure.  Perhaps she had heard wrong.

“With Annie,” he explained.  “I did . . . please her.  I never wanted to hurt her.”

At the realization, she shook off her sleepiness.  She could hardly believe he had brought her up of his own volition, and after he was so offended when _she_ brought up his former lover!

Getting only silence in response to his confession, he yawned and shrugged.  “You did ask.”

He spoke no more, and soon he was breathing evenly, fast asleep again. Marian watched his face for long minutes, struck by the significance of her new discovery.  Apparently, she could ask her husband whatever she wanted.  She just had to await the right moment.


	4. Knighton

The following night, she went to bed prepared with a plan.  She had been to see several of the Gisborne wives again to gather a list of specific needs to support her request.  It had gone even better than she’d hoped; not only did Guy agree that it was a sound plan, but he promised to bring it up with the steward himself.  As much as she hoped the man, James, and his wife did respect her, she knew her ideas were more likely to go into effect if it was her husband who proposed them.  And she was confident she could keep tract of their implementation through Margery.  Ever since she had arranged Marian’s hair for the wedding, she was the servant who had shown her the most friendliness.

Speaking to James herself had only increased her optimism.  He confessed to her that he had long wanted to bring up the idea of such a fund, but of course it was Sir Guy’s manor, and he didn’t know if he would be open to the idea.  “But I’ve always noticed that husbands seem to be more open to notions when their new brides bring them up,” he had observed with a wink.  Marian couldn’t help blushing at his words; it was an unfamiliar feeling to be so well understood.

She was feeling so good about her plans coming to fruition that she wanted to share them with someone she knew would appreciate them.  Every day, she had been exchanging messages with her father, letting him know what she was doing and getting news back about his health.  But concern for him was always on her mind; he knew that she needed time to settle in to Gisborne, and she knew that would keep him from being completely honest with her. He had never been one to complain, but his health had declined so much in recent years.  She decided that this was news worth giving personally, and it would give her a chance to see how he really was.

Guy had no objections to her leaving.  “Of course you must go to Knighton if you’re concerned,” he said at breakfast. “I have to go to the castle early today anyway.  The sheriff has . . . urgent business for me to attend to.” He dropped his eyes at the last bit, as was his custom.  He knew that Marian did not like for him to talk about the sheriff, but she had learned not to reproach him for it.  As there was nothing she could do to stop it, it hardly seemed worth the distress it caused him.

“I’ll be back by this evening,” she promised, pressing a goodbye kiss to his lips before making her way to the stables.

She was pleased to find her father doing well; he seemed to be more concerned about her than anything else, and she felt a twinge of guilt for having spent so much time away from him, though it had only been a few days since the wedding.  The servants were pleased to see her, and it drove home anew how much she had missed them.  Almost all of them had known her since she was a child; it had been strange to be waited on by people of whom she knew nothing, and who knew so little of her.  There was one family servant, though, of whom she had no idea what to expect.

“Much has been asked about you,” her father said sagely.  “I told him that you were well, that you wrote every day, but he did ask if he might see you if you happened to come to visit.”

Marian sighed even as she nodded her head.  “Of course, father.  I’ll go now, if you don’t mind.”

Her anxiety only grew as she approached the mill.  She had invited Much to the wedding, more as a gesture of goodwill than anything.  Of all her acquaintances, she knew that he disproved of her marriage the most.  She had seen him at the ceremony, looking uncharacteristically glum, but he had vanished as soon as it was over.  Telling herself that he had to return to work had been a small comfort; even if he had the time, his nature was far too honest for him to congratulate her.  She knew that it was Guy whom he despised, not her, but she couldn’t help feeling hurt.  Nothing had ever come between them before.

When she first saw him, his back was turned to her.  She waited for a moment for him to turn, and when he did it was with a gasp of surprise.

“Marian? What are you doing here?” he cried.  At first, she could only watch him, scanning his face for signs of reproach.  Before she could get a reading of his feelings, though, he turned back around to grant a few minutes break to his men.  Since his father’s death two years earlier, the mill had been his responsibility.  It took up so much of his time and energy that Marian was unsurprised that he had not yet married.  And even more surprised that he had been able to assist her on the Night Watchman’s outings.

When he came out to see her, she could only describe his demeanor as shy.  He was not angry, but he seemed unable to meet her eyes.

“Father told me that you wanted to see me, Much.  Is everything alright?”

He turned his attention to his men, who were sitting on the ground nearby making conversation.  “It’s fine, Marian,” he replied finally.  “I know I shouldn’t have bothered Sir Edward.  I told myself, Much, he won’t know why she hasn’t been back.  He’ll just say that she’s Gis . . . I mean, Sir Guy’s wife now, and she has duties at Gisborne.  But  . . . I didn’t . . .” He peered up at her in lieu of answering, and she could see worry written in every feature.  Much was afraid that she would be angry with him!

“What is it?” she asked in what she hoped was a soothing voice.

He sighed and looked away as he answered.  “I didn’t think it was true, Marian.  I thought . . . well . . .”

She felt her features tighten with impatience.  “Yes?” she urged, more tersely than she intended.

Much squared his jaw as he lifted his eyes to meet her.  “I thought you would be miserable there, with Gisborne.  I though you would want to come back right away.  Even though you did marry him, I didn’t think he would stop you from doing what needed to be done.  I didn’t think you would, well . . . stop caring.”

She felt the blood rush to her face at his words.  “I haven’t stopped caring!” she snapped.  “Just because I’ve been away for a few days doesn’t mean . . .”

“But you know what he’s been doing for the past few days,” Much returned, raising his eyebrows.  “He’s been starving Dan Scarlett!”

Marian’s face fell.  She had known Dan all her life; he was a carpenter who lived on her father’s lands, one of the best in Nottinghamshire. It was little wonder that Guy had told her nothing of this.

“But . . . why?” she asked, not know what else to say.  As though any explanation could possibly make sense of this.

“According to Gisborne, he hasn’t been able to pay his taxes.  And the sheriff has issued a new proclaimation that no one who fails to pay will be able to get food until the payment has been made.  Then his men went into the cottage and took all the food they had, and even their chickens.  And then he posted men outside the door.”

Marian lowered her head, sinking under the realization of how much Guy had not told her.

“I’m so sorry, Much,” she muttered, her voice shaking.  “Please believe I had no idea.  Guy . . . he doesn’t tell me anything about what the sheriff does.”

She ventured to look up at her friend.  He was frowning deeply, but more with confusion than anger.  “But . . . he’s your husband, Marian.  What do you talk about if not what he does every day?”

A helpless shrug was the only reply she could manage for a few moments.  “I . . . I do things too,” she went on lamely.  “I’ve been talking to the steward, trying to set up a fund for the people there . . . How long has it been since Dan and his family have eaten?” she inquired.  The people of Gisborne could wait; none of them were being deprived of food on the Sheriff’s orders.

Much considered silently for a moment.  “Two days, I think.  Today is the third.”

Marian lifted a finger to her lips, lost in thought.  It wasn’t a dangerous amount of time yet, but they would be growing weak. And that weakness would expose them to other ailments.  They would have to eat soon.

“We have to do something,” she said, looking up at Much.  She thought she could just see a relieved smile tug at the edges of his lips, quickly to be replaced by a frown.  “But . . . won’t Gisborne . . .”

“I’ll tell him I decided to spend the night here tonight.”

That answer did little to reassure her friend.  “He’ll allow that?”

She pressed her lips together in determination.  “He won’t have a choice; I’d like to see him try to keep me there against my will!”

* * *

By the time she arrived at Gisborne, though, her confidence had waned.  She had only come to collect her trunk; that wouldn’t take very long.  Perhaps she could simply leave word with Margery that she had decided to stay at Knighton for a day or two.  She didn’t like to lie, but perhaps Guy would fill in the gap in the information himself.  It was no secret that her father was often ill.

The stable boy had loaded her trunk onto the cart, and she was just about to be on her way when she heard the familiar sound of Guy’s gelding’s hoof beats approaching.  She exhaled, defeat overtaking her.  Fine, she would have it out with him, but nothing he could say would make her change her mind.

“Marian, what’s this?” he asked, in such a tone that she didn’t have to look at him to imagine the worry creasing his brow.  “I hope that your father is well.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation; how had he guessed the lie she had planned so quickly?

“He’s . . . well, he’s looked better,” she replied, pretending to check the security of the ties holding her trunk on the wagon. It wasn’t exactly a lie; he had looked much better a few years ago.

“Are you . . . going to stay there?”

“Where else would I be going?” she replied crossly, finally meeting his gaze.

“Is it that serious?”

His worried frown made his genuine concern clear, and if her father truly were in danger, or if she were less upset with him, it would have moved her.  But knowing that did nothing to lessen her hostility.

“I feel Knighton needs me.  Apparently, terrible things have happened there since I’ve bene away.  Dan Scarlett being under house arrest, for example.”

Guy’s face fell and he looked away.  “Sir Edward told you then?”

Marian frowned at that.  It was the first time it occurred to her that, no, her father had told her nothing.  She wondered what might be the reason for that.

“I know the people there, Guy.  You can’t starve a man with a wife and dependent children and expect it to remain a secret,” she snapped bitterly.

Her husband sighed audibly.  “I know you’re upset, Marian, but . . . there isn’t anything you can do for them.  The sheriff . . .”

“Yes, I know about the sheriff and his commands,” she interjected, cutting him off.  “And no can do anything to stop him, of course.  Especially not you, his right hand man,” she sneered.

Still not looking at her, Guy dismounted from his horse and approached her.  “Please, Marian,” he pleaded.  “People have to pay their taxes.  If no one was punished for failing to pay, no one would.  And we would all be punished.”

“Do you think the king would advocate starving children?” she asked coldly.

Guy sighed and looked up at the sky, exasperated.  “He’s been in the Holy Land for years, Marian.  Who knows what he wants? But this is how government works.”

She was almost shaking with anger.  How could he be so gentle and considerate inside, in their bedroom, and now so condescending out here?

“You just want me to accept this injustice and not talk about it, don’t you?” she hissed.  “You want me to just stop caring about Knighton and its people, and devote myself entirely to you?”

He stopped just in front of her, looking down at his feet.  “No, it’s not like that,” he said softly.  “I knew you would be angry.  That’s why I didn’t . . .”

“Why you didn’t tell me? I know you don’t speak of the sheriff’s orders to me because you know how I feel about him. And I’ve been content with that, but no more.”

She stepped towards him, lifting his chin with her hand and forcing him to look at her.

“I was deceived for a little while.  I thought that you could be kind, understanding.  But now . . . I see that I shall have to learn to live with disappointment.”

It wasn’t until Guy’s eyes widened that she realized she was trembling.  In another moment, she would start to cry, and her words would lose the force she wanted them to have.  Without speaking further, she released him, climbing into the cart and taking up the reins without another look back.


	5. The Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last chapter for this month. It's possible that there will be another one if I get inspired, but it's going to be a very busy next two weeks. I also have a couple of one-shots and the second chapter of a WiP that I'd like to work on. But, I do have lots of ideas for the future of this fic that I'm excited to get to soon!

Marian was still shaking with nerves when she returned to Knighton after the encounter she had with the sheriff’s men.  She had hoped to get into the cottage and leave the food without rousing the sleeping guards, who had been left to keep out visitors all night long.  It was a good plan, and she had met with success until she was spied by a new group of men coming to relieve the night guards, Guy among them! He had recognized her and come for her immediately, stopping her in her path and jumping down from his horse.

For the first time ever, he came close to getting the better of the Night Watchman.  He got far too close to her with his sword far too many times, but fortunately seemed more interested in disarming her than killing her.  But when he lunged forward and grabbed her vest, she acted in the only way she saw open to her.  She brought her knee up hard between his legs, rushing off as fast as she could when he released her and dropped to the ground in pain.  His men seemed to have little interest in pursuing her after that.

By the time she reached Much’s cottage, her heart was beating so fast that she thought it might burst.  It was a struggle to change back into her dress.  What if someone had followed her after all, and make the connection between Much and the Night Watchman?  She would have sealed the fates of both her friend and her father, not to mention . . .

She stopped herself before she could complete that thought.  What if Guy had succeeded in unmasking her? How much would it devastate him to know that she was the one who had been outsmarting and outfighting him all this time? It had been hard enough for her to be confronted with the side of Guy that wanted to capture, imprison, and possibly kill her after seeing such a drastically different side of him over the past few nights.  She was glad now that it had only been a few nights! Weeks of being lulled by his kindness to her as his wife would have surely resulted in a sadder end to this encounter.

And now how could she go back to Gisborne and pretend that none of this had happened? Not knowing what else to do , she went to her father’s bedroom and knocked softly on the door.

“Come in, my dear,” he answered, clearly expecting her.

He was still dressed in his nightclothes, but sitting up in bed eating from a tray.  “You look well this morning,” she observed, trying to sound cheerful in spite of her true feelings.

“You look tired, Marian,” he replied.  “Did you rise too early?”

She frowned and looked down at his words.  While she had, amazingly, been able to keep her secret identity from him, she had never been able to hide her mood.  He was too observant and knew her too well.

“I’m . . . worried, father,” she confessed.

He smiled and gave a nod. “I know you are, dear.  The first fight of a marriage is never easy, but that’s part of it. It’s part of any relationship; you just have to learn from it, and move on from it.”

“But, how?” she cried wearily, lifting a hand to rub at the corners of her eyes. “I know that what he’s doing to Dan is wrong.  It’s always going to be wrong! How will I face him if Dan . . .?”

Her father lifted a hand, silencing her.  “You don’t have to worry about him anymore for now, Marian.  I have decided to pay the debt he owes.  I was just going to send the money into Nottingham when you arrived.”

Marian smiled with relief and reached for her father’s hand.  “Thank you,” she murmured.  “I’m glad, but . . .” The possibility that it wouldn’t be enough, that it would happen to someone else, and her father could not afford to help everyone, hung over her ominously, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.  Dan and his family were safe for the present; that was all she could afford to think about for now.

Her father nodded again, as though he knew what was on her mind. “But about this . . . disagreement with Sir Guy,” he said, changing the subject, “the sooner you try to mend it, the easier it will be.  If you wait for him to come and ask for your forgiveness, well, it might be a long wait.”

Marian withdrew her hand and sat back with a little huff. “He doesn’t need my forgiveness, father! I’m not the one he’s treated wrongly.”

Sir Edward kept the same patient smile.  “From what you’ve told me, there would be no need for you to wait.  He’s all to ready to believe he’s treated you wrongly, even when he has not.  What I mean is, he probably doesn’t see himself as having a choice.”

Marian couldn’t resist rolling her eyes at that.  “There is always a choice,” she muttered.

She was met with a shrug.  “Well, technically, that’s true,” her father admitted.  “But some choices are, well, devastating for everyone involved.” A serious expression came over his features.  “Marian . . . do you remember when the new sheriff arrived in Nottingham and wanted my position?”

Her eyes widened even as she nodded.  Her father almost never spoke of that.

“Well, I wanted to fight him, as you said I should.  Please believe that.” He looked at her earnestly before continuing.  “I wanted to, but I believed that if I did, he would kill me.  And everything he’s done since has affirmed that belief. And what would have happened to you had you been left with no one to protect you? And as for your husband, well, look what happened to the previous Master at Arms! Do you think Sir Guy would not meet the same fate if he refused to do the sheriff’s bidding?”

Marian had no response to that; it had never really occurred to her before.  “What do you think I should do?” she asked pleadingly.  It was clear that she could not remain at Knighton forever, but she dreaded the thought of the conversation she would have to have with Guy.

Sir Edward sighed. “You’re not going to like this, but I think you have to tell him you understand.  It might not be true,” he added quickly, stopping he objection she had opened her mouth to make, but he needs to hear that from you.”

Marian leaned her head back against the chair, looking up at the ceiling.  He was right, she didn’t like it.  But she also knew that Guy did need that reassurance if they were going to move forward, if she was to ever have any hope of exerting more influence over him.

“Alright,” she said in a tone of resignation.  “I’ll tell him that when I return to Gisborne this afternoon.”

* * *

It was late when she arrived.  She did not want to run the risk of encountering any of Guy’s men; how would she know if they had witnessed her husband’s fight with the Night Watchman? The more sets of eyes she gave the opportunity of recognizing her, the more likely it was that it would happen.

As she mounted the stairs, she found herself almost shaking with apprehension again.  “Come on, Marian, don’t be stupid,” she chided herself inwardly.  “We’ve had enough of that for one day.” All she had to do was make up with Guy so she could continue on with her plans for Gisborne.  And then maybe, eventually, other plans might be possible.

When she pushed the door open, she saw that Guy was already inside, getting ready for bed.  Right away, she could see that he was as nervous about seeing her as she was to speak with him.

“Marian!” he cried, dropping the loose shirt he had just removed in his surprise.  “I . . . I didn’t know if . . .”

She couldn’t help smiling as she exhaled with relief.  This was going to be easier than she’d feared.  “You didn’t know what, Guy? Did you think I wouldn’t come back? I am your wife.”

He gave a helpless shrug as he sat heavily on the bed.  “Well, you did say . . .”

His gaze dropped from her to the floor as he trailed off, as though recounting her words to him the previous afternoon was too painful.

Marian sighed as she sat down next to him.  “I know what I said, Guy,” she admitted softly, lifting a hand to his shoulder.  “I was angry, but I’ve given it a lot of thought since I last saw you.  I know that the sheriff ordered you to post those guards, and though I think it’s a deplorable way to treat people, I know it wasn’t your idea and . . .”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust, glad that Guy was not looking at her; this was the hardest part.  “I know that you have to obey his orders. He is your master, after all.”

Guy glanced up, and for a moment she was worried that he knew she was lying, that her distaste for his obedience was so strong she could not hide it.  He blinked and furrowed his brow.  “You’re not . . . angry with me, then?” he asked meekly.

Marian looked down at his chest as she shook her head, noticing the bruise blooming on his pale skin where she had punched him earlier.  She stroked it lightly with the tips of her fingers.

“What’s this?” she asked, trying to change the subject and set aside the anger that was already fading at the sight of him.

He looked away again, and she felt his chest rise and fall as he sighed.  “I just . . . we encountered some of the local riff raff this morning.  It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Worry was not what she felt as he withdrew her hands.  “Riff raff, indeed,” she scoffed inwardly.  “Did he get away?” she inquired.

Guy nodded.  “We don’t even know what he was doing in Nottingham, and now I suppose we never will.”

She bit back a smile as she continued to touch his chest. “Does it hurt? Do you have any . . . any other injuries?” She wondered if she sounded apologetic.  It was normal for wives to worry when their husbands got into fights, of course, but she was beginning to feel a touch of guilt too.  Surely it wasn’t so normal for wives to be the cause of their husbands’ injuries.

“No.  Just a few bruises.”

Her eyes fell to the laces of his breeches before she could stop herself, and when she looked up at him again his wide-eyed expression made it clear that he had noticed.  Without a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a close hug.

“I’m . . . glad,” she said awkwardly.  She had never hugged Guy before, and her heart quickened with worry.  Had she made the situation even more suspicious?

Guy tighten his arms around her, and she heard him sniff.  “I was so worried,” he muttered.  “So worried.” She lifted a hand to rub his back between his shoulder blades, touched.  She felt the unpleasant sense of guilt settle in her stomach again, and not about his injury.  It was clear that their marriage had done little to alleviate his fear that she would leave him, or continue to dislike him.  She wondered what he feared more.

Disengaging herself, she smiled at him again.

“You should take those boots off,” she suggested, “before you get into bed with me.”

Guy leaned forward and stretched out first one leg and then the other, tugging the boots off by their heels with an eagerness that only prolonged the process.  Once she had taken her own shoes off, Marian unfastened the laces at her bodice and pulled her dress over her head.  When she had dressed that morning, she had given no thought to whether she would return to Gisborne that night, and the shift she had put on was a finely woven, almost sheer white one that she usually used in the summer months.  Noticing it, she couldn’t help but smirk at the memory of the modest one she had put on for the wedding night.  Modesty seemed such a distant notion to her now.

She looked down at Guy, who was stretched out on the bed clad only in his breeches, and saw that the difference had not gone unnoticed.  His eyes were dark with lust and his chest was rising and falling rapidly.  Lowering her gaze, she thought she could just make out the line of his cock swelling against his thigh through the smooth black material.  The leg closer to her was stretched out on the bed, and the other bent at the knee.  When she sat down by his foot, she pulled his leg onto her lap, sliding closer to him so that she was positioned between his calves.  Making a half-turn towards him, she placed her palms on his thighs, stroking up and down.  Guy inhaled deeply, pressing his head back against the pillow and letting his eyes fall shut.  Marian smirked to herself, repeating the motion, this time letting her little finger brush lightly against the bulge.  He gasped and started to sit up, but she pressed her palm against his chest, holding him in place.

“Not yet,” she cooed, slowly skimming her fingertips up his chest and over his throat.  As she cupped her hand gently over it, she felt his pulse racing and his Adam’s apple rub against her palm as he swallowed.  Just a matter of hours ago, they had fought so fiercely, but now he had complete trust in her.  He looked up at her, eyes full of desire and nothing more.  She couldn’t resist climbing the rest of the way onto the bed, on her hands and knees, and bracing herself on outstretched arms to kiss him.  Guy reached up to tangle his hands in her hair, returning her kisses eagerly with soft cries.  When she lowered her hips to rub her groin against his, he groaned so loudly that she worried she had hurt him again.

“Sorry,” she gasped as she lifted herself off of him and sat back on her heels.  “Is it . . . uncomfortable?”

“A bit,” he hissed through his teeth.  Marian felt her eye widen in panic as she looked from his face down to his fastenings and back again.  She hadn’t meant to knee him hard enough to do lasting damage; were men really so fragile there?

“It’s too tight,” he explained, reaching for the laces himself and beginning to unfasten them.  “My breeches fit close.  When I get hard . . . there isn’t enough room.”

Marian grinned, relieved.  “Well, I suppose comfort is worth sacrificing, then.  I know how you love your tight leather.”

Guy quirked an eyebrow, giving her a wicked grin of his own.  “I’m not the only one,” he purred.  “I’ve seen the way that you watch me.  You like my snug trousers too.”

She felt a blush begin to creep into her cheeks.  It was true.  She had always felt some attraction to him.  It had just been easier to conceal it beneath other, less confusing feelings before.

When the grin dropped from his face, she realized that she had been silent for too long.  Snapping back into the present, she reached down to finally cover his erection with her hand, pressing down until he jerked with a pained whine.

“Yes, but let’s get you out of them, shall we?”

When she pulled down his breeches, releasing his cock, it slapped against his belly so hard that Marian winced at the sound.  But it seemed to have no effect on Guy but excite him even more.  He was panting now, watching her every movement.  For a moment, she could only look at him.  If she had really hurt him that morning, surely he couldn’t be so aroused now.  His cock stretched up towards his navel, so erect that that the veins stood out in sharp relief.  For the first time, she found herself paying attention to the soft looking scrotum hanging beneath it.  That part of him would have received most of the force of her knee, and it did appear so very vulnerable.  She reached out her hand to lightly stroke it with her fingertips before cupping it in the palm of her hand.

“God, Marian,” Guy groaned as he arched his back, spreading his legs to give her more room.  She felt heat begin to pool between her own legs at that reaction; this was clearly not pain.  When she gave a gentle, experimental squeeze, she felt the hard stones within the skin slip between her fingers.  Fascinated, she brought her other hand into play, rolling them each individually and then sliding them against each other.  Soon, Guy was trembling from too much stimulation, whimpering with each new movement from beneath the arm he had flung over his face.

“Marian, please. I can’t,” he begged, bringing her attention back from between his legs.

“Can’t what?”

She stopped touching him, finally noticing how flushed and painful his leaking cock looked.

“I can’t . . . fuck you if you don’t stop, Marian.  I’m so close.”

She felt an unexpected rush of pleasure at the thought.  If she only wanted to finish him, a few good strokes with her hand would probably do the trick.  But that was not what she wanted, she realized with unshakeable conviction.  At that moment, it didn’t matter what he had done earlier; she still wanted him.

Without a word, she moved to the head of the bed to lay down next to him, taking one of his long hands in hers and bringing it to her breast.  At first, he only cupped it, bringing his thumb to rub over her nipple as it hardened within her shift.  She sucked in her lower lip, holding back the sound that wanted to escape her mouth, and rubbed her thighs together, releasing her lip to gasp at the burst of pleasure that sent up her spine.  In her concern for Guy, her own excitement had crept up on her.  He remained still, though, not even moving to touch her other breast.

“Well, come on then,” she said, exasperation beginning to creep into her voice. That got a reaction from him; he sat up and repositioned himself by her feet, looking down at her intently.

“He’s still waiting for permission,” she thought to herself, amazed. She felt a twinge of remorse at her words for the first time.  It wasn’t only cruel to call him unkind, it was untrue.  At least where she was concerned.  Looking up at him, she spread her legs in invitation, lifting her hips as she raised the bottom of her shift. Guy covered her body with his, pressing his blunt tip against her opening and pushing in slowly, giving her time to adjust.  When he was fully seated and pulling back to thrust in, she put her hand on his hips, holding him in place.  Guy looked down at her, brows knit in confusion

“Is . . . everything alright, darling?” he asked, his voice shaking with tension. 

“Everything’s fine,” she replied, “I just . . . want to feel you for a moment.”

She knew that he would obey, that she had never had more control over anyone than she did over Guy in that moment.  It was exhilarating, this power. If only she could have this much control outside of the bedroom, but perhaps in time.

But he did feel so good inside her.  Though she had only been with him like this a few times, there was none of the initial discomfort. He filled her in a way that brought only pleasure, and if she could just find a way to control his movements . . .

“You can move now,” she said.

Guy moaned at the first thrust, as though surprised himself.  He bit his lip as he continued, his forehead lined with concentration.  Quickly, he fell into the familiar rhythm, but she wanted something new.  If she could just get her hips a little closer to his . . .

She gasped as his cock glanced so close to that spot, the one he found so easily with his fingers.  He stopped moving and looked down at her.

“Do you think you . . . Can you wrap your leg around my waist?” he asked.

Marian considered.  “I . . . think so.  If you can still move like that.”

Guy smiled down at her tenderly from behind his damp bangs.

“Oh, I think I can manage that,” he replied.

As soon as her leg was around him, she could feel the difference: so much closer, and deeper, when he thrust again.  This time, when he withdrew he brushed against that spot so directly that she cried out in both surprise and pleasure.  He thrust again and again, sometimes only glancing it or missing completely, but the tension within her grew tighter and tighter all the same.  There was so much feeling, but somehow it was not quite enough.  When Guy’s movements became erratic, he stopped for a moment before continuing, and she began to realize that he was waiting for her, holding back his release for her pleasure.  Finally, when his arms began to tremble with the effort of holding himself up, she reached down to where their bodies met to stroke the swollen nub of her clit.  Almost immediately, she arched her back with a moan and lifted her hips to meet his urging him to thrust faster and harder, finding her sweet spot again.  She clenched around him as she came, spasms of pleasure spreading through her so fast and hard she thought she would lose consciousness.

As she lay shuddering, boneless with pleasure, she was aware of Guy gasping her name as he spilled inside her and collapsed, so heavy she couldn’t draw breath, for a moment before dragging himself off of her and rolling onto his side.

Marian heaved a sigh as she looked up at the ceiling.  Why was this drive to climax always followed by a feeling of such, well, emptiness? She turned to look at Guy lying next to her.  Were it not for the slight smile on his lips, she could believe he was already asleep.

“That was . . . something different,” she said, making a feeble, reluctant effort at conversation.  She always felt a need to ask something of Guy after sex, that she owed it to the Night Watchman part of herself to always be thinking of others.  But that pressure carried a pang of guilt for the Lady Gisborne part too.  Couldn’t she just enjoy being with her husband without making these calculations? A lot of women were not as lucky as herself. 

Guy’s eyes fluttered open, and his smile stretched into a smirk.  “Yes, it was.  You’re figuring it out now. When you know how to pleasure yourself . . . it just makes everything easier.”

She had never thought of it like that.  But then, thoughts of pleasure had never mixed with thoughts of Guy until the past week.

Curiosity drove the other, nagging feelings from her mind. “I’ve learned a lot.  More than I thought I would, to be honest.  I don’t . . . mean this as a reproach, but . . . I thought you would . . . tell me what to do.”

Guy opened his eyes fully for the first time since his climax, but she saw no pain or offense in them this time.  “I could do that, I suppose.  If you wanted me too. But that’s . . . not what I like.  I like to be . . .” He looked away from her, as though embarrassed about what he was going to say.

“Go on,” she urged, moving closer in the hopes of encouraging him. He glanced back at her and then away again.  Finally, he shrugged, giving up.  “I like to be told what do do . . .  I’ve . . . always been like that.”

As he concluded, Marian frowned thoughtfully.  Perhaps he did obey to protect himself, and now her, as her father suggested.  But this was another possibility, or perhaps it was a combination of the two.  She herself had never been obedient, and it was hard to see the appeal.  But then, her face softened into a little smirk.  That was a side of her husband for which she could find multiple uses.

“That’s good,” she said with a note of triumph as she leaned down to press a kiss to his lips.  “Because I certainly enjoy telling you what to do.”


	6. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay! I intended to update before now, but work has been a beast these past two months. I can make no promises for regular updates this month as I'll be travelling, but things should settle down for a little while in January.

In the weeks that followed, Marian found countless ways to suggest improvements to the lives of her husband’s tenants, and they began to take notice.  She had become friendly with several of the wives, and not only did they keep her abreast of happenings in Gisborne, they were able to share gossip from other manors as well.  Without a word from her, they seemed to recognize that she shared their loathing for the sheriff, and trusted her with their news.  Through their unwitting help, she found plenty to keep the Nightwatchman busy.  The Sheriff had attempt to starve several other families into paying their taxes, but his men couldn’t seem to keep the outlaw out.  Marian was sure that eventually he would find another way to punish them, and she could only hope that her new friends would be able to tell her about that as well.  In the meantime, she congratulated herself on her success.

Her success rate with Guy had been more complicated.  She had to be strategic, asking only the right questions at only the right times.  He would not tell her explicitly what the sheriff’s orders had been for each day if she asked, but when she was patient, she could pick up little clues from his appearance, demeanor, and how much or little he spoke to her.  On a good day, he listened eagerly to her well-edited accounts of what she had done that day, asking questions, and when he told her that he had done “nothing out of the ordinary,” she believed him.  Other days, most days, he would look weary and remain mostly silent, and this mood would often correspond with a bitter account from one of her friends about the sheriff’s latest outrage.  It was evident that he did not enjoy his work, and that it had to do with more than just fears of her disapproval.

She had encountered him twice more as the Nightwatchman, both times finding herself more prepared.  Given how often he practiced with her, she wondered that he did not improve as a fighter.  Her mistakes from before, right after they had married, had given him a new confidence, but it did not last.  When he realized that she was besting him effortlessly again, his anger got the better of him and made him sloppy, making it easier for her to catch him off guard and put him on the ground, giving herself time to escape.  Indeed, letting his emotions get the better of him had proven his downfall in multiple areas.

Their battles had an effect on her that she had not anticipated as well.  The energy and the excitement of their fights, and her triumph over him, led to another kind of excitement when she returned home, one that Guy enjoyed far more than the humiliation the Nightwatchman brought him.  While she rarely turned down sex, it was something altogether different after she had beaten him in a fight; her energy made her more demanding, and that seemed to make her pleasure more intense.  When she considered it this after their second fight, she thought perhaps she was trying to comfort him after having hurt him, his pride at the very least.  But the third time confirmed that was not the case.  She wasn’t thinking about what he needed particularly; it was more about what she wanted from him.  He had not been lying when he said he enjoyed being told what to do; any orders from her in bed seemed to delight him. At least there was one area in which they seemed to be making progress.

That had been two weeks ago, and since then, things had been very quiet.  None of the wives of Gisborne had any news for her about the sheriff, and neither had Much when she took an afternoon to visit him.  Marian knew she should be happy, but she could not look past the sense of something foreboding.  If the sheriff wasn’t doing something awful, he was planning something worse.

She got the news from the poulterer’s wife one morning when she went to gather some eggs for the cook.

“Did you hear about the fire in Nettlestone?,” the woman inquired in a harsh whisper, as though fearful some unseen figure might overhear.

Marian’s eyes widened as she shook her head.  Fires were not uncommon; it would need to be exceptional to be worth mentioning at all.

“Well, the tanner there, Joseph, hadn’t been able to pay his taxes, like the others, but apparently he wasn’t too worried about it because, after all, the Nightwatchman has been managing to sneak past the sheriff’s guards. So, when Sir Guy arrived at his cottage, he said as much.  He’s always been a blunt man, or so I’m told, and he said ‘You can’t even stop one outlaw from bringing food; why should we be scared of you?”

Marian cringed inwardly.  Such direct defiance would only provoke the sheriff; she had learned that from experience. “Go on, Mary,” she urged.

“Well, then Sir Guy said, ‘I didn’t come to starve you.’  He said the sheriff wanted to send a message; then he ordered his men to set fire to the cottage.  There was just enough time for his wife and children to get out before the flames took it; now they have nothing, and the sheriff will still expect their taxes to be paid.”

Marian shook her head, trying to keep her fury at bay.  She could get food to people, but she could not rebuild their home in the course of a single evening.  If the sheriff were going to start burning homes as widely as he had been starving families, how could she possibly stop him?

It was all she could think about for the rest of the day, and the more she thought, the more hopeless the situation seemed.  If only she could make Guy understand how much the sheriff was undermining himself with these rash decisions, but he wouldn’t want to listen.  And the thought made her furious.  He enjoyed her orders, until it came to something that really mattered. Then he was absolutely useless.

Guy spoke even less than usual during dinner, and she had to stop herself from staring at him a couple of times as they ate.  He was transformed from his appearance that morning.  Though he seemed to sleep well next to her, he looked as though he had not slept in a week.  His face looked lined and worn, and he had dark circles under his eyes.  She found herself wondering, as she had many times before, how he could work for a man whose orders put him under such strain.

“You look tired, Guy,” she observed, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.  “Did the sheriff have you doing something out of the ordinary today?”

Her husband shook his head without looking up from his soup.  “Not particularly,” he replied.  “It’s just a long ride to Nettlestone.”

It was an exaggeration, and that did nothing to improve Marian’s mood. “Perhaps it only seems like a long ride,” she said, aggressively sawing at the meat on her plate with her knife, “if you’re burning down peasants’ homes when you arrived.”

She heard Guy sigh, though, again, he did not look up.  “It was the sheriff’s idea, Marian,” he muttered wearily.  She felt a pang of sympathy for him underneath the anger.  Whether he in fact had another option mattered little if he could not see it himself.  Instead of replying right away, she took a moment to think.  She couldn’t get him to openly contradict the sheriff, but perhaps if she could help him see the effect it had.

“Was anyone harmed . . . any of the family?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice even.

Guy glanced at her timidly.  “No, everyone was able to get out before the flames overtook the cottage.”

She forced a smile to her lips.  “That’s good.  Now, do you know where they went?”

As she awaited his reply, it occurred to her that he hadn’t questioned how she knew what he had done in Nettlestone.  And yet it seemed unlikely that he would know how quickly news spread among peasant women, most of whose names he didn’t know.

He shrugged, reaching for his wine glass and emptying the last of it down his throat.  Then he reached for the pitcher and poured another before he shrugged.

“They went into a neighboring cottage.  I think the woman who lived there, who opened the door for them, might be her mother.”

Marian fought to suppress a scoff; did he really think that was a solution? “But, Guy,” she went on.  “Those cottages are small.  It will be crowded with those who already live there and the rest of them.  Is the wife’s father still living? How many children do they have?”

Guy dropped his fork onto the plat with a loud ping.  “I don’t know, Marian,” he snapped in frustration.  They’re lucky they had someone to take them in.  When I . . . nevermind.”

Marian felt her eyes widen.  She was ready to snap back at him, to chide him for being so heartless, but the personal turn his words had taken caught her off guard.

“When you what, Guy?”

He was looking at his plate again, but a blush had come up on his cheeks.  When he glanced up at her, his eyes were full of anger, but the softness of his voice made her realize that she was not the cause.

“It’s nothing Marian, I . . . I have to go and check on my horse.  He picked up a stone today, and I think it must have bruised his foot because he was limping a bit.  I just want to see how he is.  Don’t wait up.”

Without looking at her again, he left.  Marian sat in silence, finishing her dinner.  When she was finished she tried to some sewing, but she found herself too agitated.  It would clearly only take Guy a few minutes to check on the horse, but he knew it wasn’t just that.  There was something about his past that he wanted to avoid telling her, but what?  She knew that he had been born in Nottingham, but she was a young child when he left, and she and her father had been visiting his sister at the time.  He wanted Marian to have a woman’s influence since her own mother had died six years earlier.  Thinking back now, she could remember her father talking about how many things had changed, but he had not known the Gisbornes well.  She vaguely remembered that Lady Gisborne was the first foreigner she had ever met, and that she was riveted, in her young, curious way, by her accent.  Marian thought she might have had more than one child, but she couldn’t remember. Finally, she gave up, making her way upstairs and changing for bed.

Her timing was almost perfect.  As soon as she had blown out the candle, she heard the door creak open and turned in the bed to see the soft glow of Guy’s candle as he came in.  She remained still, pretending to be asleep as he undressed.  It wasn’t until he was lying next to her that she spoke.

“Guy, what happened when you left Gisborne?”

She was met with dead silence at first, but then he said, “When? This morning?”

She shook her head at his evasiveness, glad he could not see her in the darkness.  “No, I mean the first time you left, when you were a child.”

She felt the bed shift as he rolled onto his side, and for a few seconds she feared that he would ignore her question.

“I was fifteen,” he said finally.  “And my sister was 11.  She was a child but I . . . I wasn’t old enough to take care of both of us.”

Marian rolled onto her side, propping up on her elbow to look down at him.  So there had been another child.

“What was her name?” she asked.  “And what happened to her,” rose to her lips, but she didn’t dare say it out loud.  As quiet as Guy was being, she knew she would be lucky to get his own story out of him.

“Isabella,” he said quietly.

From his short answer, Marian knew that he would prefer to let the subject drop, but she couldn’t.  She would never fall asleep if her curiosity remained unsatisfied.

“What happened to your mother and father?” she went on.

She felt Guy shift again, and the covers slide on her shoulder.  He was wrapping them tighter around himself, and she wasn’t sure if he wished to hide more merely draw comfort from them.

He sighed and began.  “My father went to fight in the Crusades when I was . . . I don’t remember how old.  I suppose I was around Isabella’s age.  She used to ask me all the time when he was coming back, as if I could know, but he never did.  I think even my mother lost hope, but she did her best for us.  She was so kind, to everyone, but we never . . . I don’t know.  We never seemed to belong here.  We kept to ourselves mostly.

He paused there, giving Marian time to consider.  No wonder she couldn’t remember Guy and his sister well.

She was just about to prod him again when he went on.  “When I was about fourteen, my mother fell ill.  It came on slowly, but within a few months she was bedridden.  Isabella asked me every day if she would die, and I asked the doctor every time he came.  He told me that she just needed rest, but all she did was rest and . . . finally, she did die.  And then . . . Bailiff Longthorn . . .”

He said the name with a surprising amount of venom.  It sounded familiar to Marian, and as she thought back she remembered why she had never spent any time at Gisborne before Guy’s return.  Her father had warned her that the bailiff was intolerant of visitors, particularly children.

“What did he do?” she asked, dreading the answer.

Guy gave a soft, bitter chuckle.  “Oh, he lay claim to Gisborne on the day of my mother’s funeral, saying no one else was capable of managing the estate but himself.  Not that he had any interest in managing the children of the former owner. ‘Go back to France,’ he told us.  So that’s what we did.  No one offered to help us, not even to shelter us for the night.”

He fell silent, and Marian knew he was waiting for a reply, but she had no words.  She could only lie there, mouth open in shock.  How had they survived? Did they make it to France? What had happened to Isabella? She started to ask, but as she did he curled in even tighter on himself.  If it was so hard for him to tell her so little, further questions would be torture.

“So, that’s why,” she murmured. Why he thought a family who had their home burned down could still be considered lucky.

“Yes,” he went on, seeming guess at her meaning.  “I . . . didn’t enjoy it, Marian.  I hope you understand that,” he added, his voice trailing off to almost a whisper.

Almost without thinking, she reached towards him, placing her hand on his bare shoulder and slowly rubbing it. “I know that, Guy,” she said, trying to soothe him. “I can see it.”

He gave no reply to that, but exhaled as her hand moved down to between his shoulder blades.  When she curved her fingers, gently scraping her nails across his skin, he sighed with pleasure and stretched out, fully relaxing.  She continued scratching up and down, a new kind of warmth spreading through her veins.  It felt surprisingly good to comfort him like this. Usually, she touched him to excite and arouse, and only rarely after the sex was over.  Somehow, he remained so unfamiliar to her; it seemed the longer she knew him, the less she realized she knew about him.  But he trusted her; that much was evident.  The thought carried a pang of guilt with it.  She wonder if, in time, his trust would become a burden she had not counted on.


	7. Morning Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been nine months since I update this fic! That's the length of a pregnancy, so not entirely inappropriate given the subject of this chapter.
> 
> I've written a lot of other stories since then, but lately I've really wanted to update this one as a gift for all the nice Guy and Marian shippers who come to my fics because they enjoy them. I do love this pairing!

Marian first began to feel nauseous that morning, on her way to Nettlestone to take money to the displaced family.  At first, she thought nothing of it; perhaps the milk had been a little off.  But when she was forced to dismount from her horse to vomit into some bushes only halfway to her destination, she concluded that she would have to turn back.  She had told Much where to go, and his cart gave him a better means of transporting ready supplies than she had. Hopefully, there would be no guards posted along the way to give him trouble.

But he would be upset when she failed to meet him; he still did not quite believe that she could be safe living with Gisborne.  Marian sighed with frustration as she dismounted back at the stable.  Perhaps she could write to her father and ask him to tell Much that she was ill, but what if that only worried him more? Before she could answer that question, she was bent over, retching again.

“That was a short ride, my lady,” Margery observed as she entered the house.

Marian grimaced, too ill for caution.  She had hoped to be able to get back to the bedroom unseen.

“Yes,” she began, “I . . . I just found myself feeling a little unwell, so I came back.

The older woman’s face lined with concern.  “What seems to be the trouble, my lady?”

Marian winced, feeling the telltale churning again.  “My stomach.  I’ve been vomiting.”

To her indignant surprise, Margery raised her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth turned up into a little smile.  “Indeed? Well, I hope you feel better soon.  Go on and rest, and send for me if you need me.”

A nod was all that Marian could manage before she was rushing for the bedpan, pulling her long hair back in her hand.  Luckily, Margery chose to leave her in peace.  She collapsed into bed, wracking her brain to determine what she could have eaten to make her feel so horrible.  She had only had her usual breakfast of milk and bread, and there had not seemed to be anything amiss with it. At least her stomach was finally empty now, and she could plan how to communicate the reason for her absence to Much.  But before she could give the matter any real thought, she was drifting off to sleep again

* * *

She woke up that afternoon just early enough to write a letter to her father asking him to send Much to her.  He wouldn’t like visiting Gisborne, but her husband knew of her close relationship to the tradesmen around Knighton, and it seemed unlikely to her that he would be suspicious.  And she did not want to risk another journey on horseback.

When she went down to dinner, she found that Guy had already been informed of her condition.  He was concerned, standing and asking how she was feeling the moment he saw her, but no more surprised by it than Margery had been that morning.  It was as though they knew something that she did not, and it unnerved her.

“Have you been feeling queasy, Guy?” she asked.  If it were food-related, perhaps it was something that had affected him too. 

“No,” he replied, eying her with a puzzled expression.  Marian frowned.  Was it such a stupid question? But then, she supposed that if he had been sick, it would not benefit him to admit it.  The sheriff was hardly going to give him a day off, was he?

“I just thought . . . perhaps it was the food?”

Guy’s brow creased as he frowned.  “Do you think the cook . . .?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Marian snapped with frustration.  The last thing she wanted was to get the poor girl into trouble.  “Even if I did have a bad reaction to something she prepared, that’s hardly to say it was her fault!”

Infuriatingly, he smiled at her, his face relaxing.  “I know, darling.  But I don’t think it’s the food.”

Perplexed, Marian could only gape at him for a moment.  “Well, why do you think I’m sick?”

The smile dropped from his face, and she thought she could see the faintest hint of pink creep into his cheeks. “I . . . well, I . . . I’m not sure,” he stammered.  “Something else, but . . . I just don’t think it’s the food because . . . well, as you said. I would be ill too.”

Marian cocked an eyebrow, but decided to let the matter drop.  Guy finished his dinner while she sipped her ale; it seemed the only item on the table that was safe, and she was not hungry anyway.

* * *

“Sick?” Much cried, bewildered.  “But you’re never sick, Marian.  Not unless it’s something serious.”

“If it wasn’t serious I would have come,” she entreated.  “You know I wouldn’t just abandon you for no reason, don’t you?”

Much shrugged.  “I know that.  I just . . . what if it is something serious, Marian?”

She shook her head, sitting up in bed to reach for his hand as it lay on the arm of his chair.  She knew Guy would not like her inviting a miller into their bedroom, but fortunately, he was not there to protest.

“It’s not! I’m feeling better already.  I told you that I only stayed here this morning to humor Guy.”

She noticed with disappointment that Much still flinched when she said that name.  This time, though, the flinch was followed by his looking at her wide-eyed with horror.

“Marian,” he whispered, as though the idea was too terrible to give his full voice, “what if? . . . no! That would just be the end of everything!”

“What?” she asked, more harshly than she intended.  Anxiety was threatening to upset her stomach again.

“What if . . . what if you’re . . . carrying a child?” Much replied, still whispering.

Marian’s heart seemed to sink within her.  “What?” she repeated sharply.

“Well, you started feeling ill in the morning, yes? Was it . . .” Much looked down at his hands, his ears reddening.  “Was it your stomach?”

Marian nodded.  “Yes,” she admitted, realizing he was still not looking at her.

“Well, that’s a sign.”

She frowned.  What did Much know? It wasn’t as though _he_ had ever been pregnant.

“So, there are a lot of reasons why I could be sick besides that.  Besides, how do you know? That that’s a sign?”

Much stared at her for a moment, apparently baffled.  “Did . . . do you really not know?” He raised his hand to brush it over his head.  “Well, I have younger sisters.  I remember when my mother knew she was carrying them.  And they’ve since married and had one child each.  And when a woman in my village learns that she’s expecting . . . that’s how she knows.  She might not tell me, but . . . gossips, Marian.”

Marian nodded.  She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly wanting to be alone. “It’s only been a day, Much,” she said dismissively. “Let’s not worry about that before we have to.  Did you get to the cottage? Was everyone alright?”

“Oh, yes,” Much replied more brightly.  The change in topic seemed to be a relief to him as much as to her.  “They’re very crowded, of course, but everyone is in good health.  They were a bit low on food, until yesterday.”

Marian forced a smile to her face.  At least that was good news, and she knew she should take that whenever she could find it.

“I’m glad. Thank you for going, Much.  We’ll talk again soon.” She got up and gave him a hug, and he was on his way.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, though, she hung her head, tears coming to her eyes.  Much was right.  If she were pregnant, it would be the end of everything.  She certainly could not continue as the Night Watchman.  Even if the clothes would still fit for a while, it would soon be even more difficult to hide the fact that a woman was wearing them.  And then once the child was born . . .

She began to sob, tears streaming down her face.  That was how Margaret knew; she had children of her own. But Guy? He had told her that he hadn’t seen his own sister since she was thirteen; did he remember his mother’s pregnancy from so long ago?

The thought came to her suddenly, and she lifted her hands to her eyes, wiping the tears away angrily.  Annie. That was what had made him so smug.  He was used to ruining women’s lives in this way.

* * *

Once her eyes were dry and her feelings under control, she went downstairs.  She was hungry, and she tried to draw confidence from that.  But not long after finishing the bread and milk the servants had given her, she was vomiting again.  There was no point to crying now, she thought with dull resignation.  Her fate had been sealed.  She had thought of Guy’s affection for her as a reprieve; she could do as she pleased without him suspecting her.  But now, her relationship with him was going to stop her good work after all. And now she regretted it more than at any point since she had married him.

She did her best to avoid Margery, but it was to no avail. “I heard that you were ill again,” she said, putting her hand on Marian’s shoulder as she attempted to walk past her in the hall.  “You have to take care of yourself.  Trying to be as active as usually isn’t going to help you feel any better.”

Marian let herself be guided to a chair by the fireplace.  It seemed that resistance would have done her no good anyway.

“Well, what will?” she asked sullenly. 

“Well, my lady, if I may . . .” She stood in front of her, seemingly immovable.  Marian sighed, trying to compose herself for a lecture. But she could feel the anger and resentment building within her.

“The first few weeks are hard for everyone, but it usually gets easier with time.  Why, I remember with my first son . . .”

Marian could stand no more.  “What are you talking about?” she asked harshly.  “I just have an upset stomach.  Nothing more.”

Margery looked down at her, pressing her lips tight together.  “Well, my dear, being sick in the morning, especially when a woman is a new bride, is a sign that you may be . . .”

“I’m not pregnant!” Marian snapped.

Margery’s eyebrow shot up and her nostrils flared.  “Well,” she said coldly.  “If you aren’t now, you will be soon enough.  Lashing out won’t change that.”

Marian hung her head with a sigh.  That was certainly true.  When she looked up, the woman’s featured had softened a bit.

“You . . . you do know how babies, come, right?” Margery asked.

She nodded feebly in reply.  If from nowhere else, she could have picked that up from the wicked banter of the as she crept past them at night in her disguise.

“So, you see my point, don’t you?” Her voice was much gentler now.

“But, surely there are other signs,” Marian asked, embarrassed by how helpless she sounded.

“Well, yes,” Margery assented.  “Of course there are, but . . . not things that I am . . . likely to observe.

“Like what?”

“Well,” she ventured cautiously, “when was the last time you bled?”

Marian thought in silence.  It was so hard to remember.  She had never seen her monthly blood as anything but a nuisance, a burden that couldn’t be over with quickly enough.  She knew from her maids at Knighton that it was tied to “a woman’s function,” which always seemed to be about having babies, but beyond that she hadn’t given it much thought.

“I can’t remember,” she confessed.  “I know it’s happened once since I came here.  But that’s been weeks ago.”

Margery sighed.  “Well, maybe you’re just late.  Don’t worry too much yet, love.” She reached down and gave Marian’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.  Then she stood straight suddenly, as though an idea had occurred to her.

“You should be marking the days.”

Marian blinked, “the days?”

“The days that you’re bleeding, so you know when to expect it. My mother taught me that as soon as I started when I was just a girl, and that’s how . . .”

She trailed off slowly, looking down at Marian with a sad smile.  “I’m sorry, my love.  I forgot.  Of course, there’s so much you couldn’t know.  You lost your mother so young; you had no one to tell you.”

That was true too, Marian thought to herself as she looked down again.  Of course.  That was why even Much knew more about signs of pregnancy than she did.  She knew that she had missed out on a lot by not having a mother, but the lack of instruction on such practical matters had never occurred to her.

“Margery,” she said softly.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.  You were only trying to help me, and I don’t mean to be ungrateful.”

Margery smiled and stroked Marian’s cheek, cradling her face in the palm of her hand. “I know, and it’s alright.  You have reason to be scared; it’s a scary thing the first time.” She paused, standing up straight again.  In a hushed tone, she continued. “I know that I’m only a servant, my dear.  I can never take the place of your mother.  But even if you aren’t carrying a child now, I want you to know that you can always ask me things. You’ve been a kind mistress, and I care for you.  We all do.  If there’s anything that worries you, or that I can help with, please let me know.”

Marian felt her eyes fill with tears again, but she struggled to hold them back.  She didn’t want to upset the woman any more than she had already.  Her words had been kindly met, but Marian could take little comfort from them.  Margery couldn’t know what pregnancy would force her to give up.

* * *

The relief she felt two days later at the telltale ache in her lower back and stomach were greater than she could have imagined only a month before.  Indeed, it was a struggle to keep a smile from her face when she told Guy, “I’m bleeding again” just before they went to bed

“Oh,” he said softly. She thought she could hear a trace of disappointment in his voice.  “I suppose you’ll want the bed to yourself again then?”

Marian nodded, but frowned with concern.  She had not slept with Guy since she became ill, even though the kitchen servants had traced the cause to some new leavening for bread that had since been replaced.  It had turned out that Marian was the only one to eat it, the servants considering it too fine for their taste, and Guy having not wanted any. She had expected for him to come to bed after that, but he had not.  Perhaps he was waiting for an invitation.

“It will only be a couple of days, Guy,” she reassured him, but a part of her hoped that it would be longer.  After her scare, she dreaded the prospect of having sex with him again.  It was pleasurable enough, but it was dangerous.

He smiled stiffly.  “I know that. I . . . I’ll leave you to yourself, but . . . I have something to ask of you.”

Marian folded her arms reflexively.  Guy had not made a request she could not honor since their marriage, but she couldn’t stop herself from anticipating that he would, sooner or later. “Yes, what is it?”

He pulled off his gloves, crumpling them in his hand.  Even though they were standing outside their bedroom door, Marian recalled his nervousness when he had courted her at Knighton.  What did he have to be so anxious about now?

“The sheriff has been sending my men and I to take inventory of all the manors in Nottingham.  He . . . he doesn’t trust the taxmen anymore.”

Marian nodded, her frown deepening.  Much had told her that they had been to Knighton already, and she knew that this new project would lead to trouble eventually.

“Well, tomorrow, we are going to visit Glasser.”

He paused and looked at her with anticipation, clearly hoping that name would sound familiar.

For a moment, she could only look back at him with confusion, but suddenly she did remember.  Lady Glasser was the woman who had taken in Annie and her baby, Seth.  Guy’s son.

“I see,” she murmured.  Then, in a sterner voice, “what would you ask of me?”

Guy looked down, crossing his arms.

“We will have to go there in two days.  If you can find the time tomorrow, I wondered if you might take a ride there and let Lady Glasser know that we’re coming.”

Marian blinked, crossing her own arms.  “And is this a courtesy you provide to everyone whose manors you . . . visit?” she asked coldly.

“No,” he sighed.  “But I thought if you could let her know, I wouldn’t run the risk of . . . of surprising Annie.  I haven’t seen her since . . . well, since she left the castle . . . with the baby.”

“With Seth,” Marian reminded him.  She noted with satisfaction that Guy winced as he nodded, his eyes on the floor.

“And you’re afraid she’ll cause a scene?” she continued.

Guy knit his eyebrows as he looked up.  “No,” he answered, confused.  “No, she was always mild mannered; I’m not worried about that.  But . . .” he paused, his eyes dropping again.  “I don’t wish to distress her.  I want her to know that I’m coming so she can choose whether she wants to see me or not.”

Marian could only stare at him for a moment.  He looked so uncomfortable with the very idea of being in the place where Annie and Seth lived, yet he was still considerate of her.  And she was sure that the girl would appreciate knowing, though she had little enough reason to be grateful to Guy.

“That’s . . . kind,” she said falteringly.  “I’ll go first thing after breakfast.  Goodnight, Guy.”


	8. Annie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, get ready! For a lot of difficult conversations!
> 
> A disclaimer: I have controversial opinions on the whole Guy/Annie situation. I think my version of Guy's treatment of her is actually worse than canon. 
> 
> One the show, Guy leaves his and Annie's baby in the woods, but Annie gets to keep her job in the kitchen. Guy could have bailed on both of them (like mine does!) but he didn't. I can even see him believing he did Annie a good turn by eliminating the problem. The perspective of the show, however, is that this is the most monstrous thing anyone could ever do. Even in fandom, I've heard it described as "attempted infanticide" more times than I care to remember, as though Guy doesn't have like ten more efficient ways to kill a baby on his person at all times if killing babies was something he wanted to do.
> 
> I've chosen to include Annie here, but not Seth. There are a couple of reasons for this. One is that I wanted to suggest the continued hardships they've faced. Annie is still a servant, so she can't spend as much time with her son as he needs. Marian didn't wave all their problems away like some magical fairy god-watchman.
> 
> Secondly, the way that the show reduces Annie to being Seth's mother frankly pisses me off. Doesn't surprise me, but it pisses me off. As reader/viewer, I want to hear more about how she feels about what has happened to her.

Marian had given a lot of thought to what she would say to Annie when she arrived at Glasser, and up until she kissed Guy goodbye after breakfast and they went their separate ways, she felt confident.

But as she drew closer and closer to the manor, the confidence left her.  How would she react to seeing Guy’s child? Would the resemblance be apparent by now? She was glad to not be pregnant, but being married to Guy had complicated her feelings about his having a child with another woman.

And how would Annie feel about seeing her?

Lady Glasser greeted her warmly, inquiring after her father’s health.  She and her husband had always been good friends of her father’s while he was sheriff, but Lord Glasser’s health had also gone into decline, and she suspected that Lady Glasser had come to value staying on the new sheriff’s good side over loyalty to old friends.  She could not remember the last time she had visited Knighton.

Still, she expressed her thanks once again for her having taken on Annie, in spite of her circumstances.

“Not at all, my child.  She’s such a hard worker! I don’t know how we managed without her before.”

“May I see her?” Marian inquired.

Lady Glasser frowned with confusion, and Marian realized that must have sounded odd to her ears.  She had told Lady Glasser about Guy and his men coming, which did little enough to alarm her, but she supposed it would seem strange to the older woman that she wanted to give this news to a servant herself.

“I . . . I wanted to tell her that Guy will be here, so she can . . . keep out of the way.”

“But Marian, how likely is he to come into the kitchen?”

Marian did not know what to say.  She had simply told Lady Glasser that Annie had an illegitimate child, and it became a relief later that she had not named the man who would become her husband.  But it did make explanations difficult.

“Well, if it would make you feel better,” the older woman said finally.  “You may find her in the kitchen.”

Marian thanked her and left, still concerned that the lady of the house would think her rude.  She considered going back to offer a clearer explanation, but stopped herself.  That would just delay the inevitable, she said to herself.  Better to get it over with.

When she found Annie she was busily kneading bread dough, which gave Marian a moment to observe her undetected.  She found herself struck again by how small and frail looking the woman was.  Though they were probably about the same age, she somehow looked younger to Marian’s eyes.  She wore her disappointment in life well, if indeed she was disappointed.

“Annie,” she said softly, trying not to startle the young woman.

She looked up, and for a moment there was no recognition in the large hazel eyes.

“Is it . . . Lady Marian?” she inquired.

Marian smiled.  “Yes.  I . . . how are you?”

The expression in Annie’s eyes was guarded.

“I’m well enough Lady . . . it is Lady Gisborne now, isn’t it?  I’m sorry about . . . before.  I should have called you Lady . . . Gisborne.

It was a struggle to keep the smile on her face.  For a second, Marian had thought to ask if Annie was sorry that she had forgotten the change in her name or sorry that she had gotten married.  Perhaps it would sound too aggressive, but she could not help but be curious.

Instead, she decided to be tactful.  “And how is Seth? Is he with you?”

With unexpected fury, Annie dropped the dough on the counter in front of her, sending up a cloud of flour.

“What do you want with Seth?” she demanded, her nostrils flaring.

Marian’s mouth fell open in shock, her mind racing to come up with a reason for this behavior.  Then, just as suddenly, it came to her.

“Annie,” she said, advancing slowly.  “No one is going to take your son away from you.  I . . . I only wanted to ask if there is anything that I . . . that we can do to help you take care of him.”

That seemed to calm her, though she blushed and dropped her eyes.  “I . . . I’m sorry my lady.  Seth is in my room; he has to stay in there while I work, but I’m allowed two breaks a day to feed him.”  When she looked at Marian again, her eyes were still full of suspicion. “We?”

Marian sighed, steeling herself to go on.  “Yes, we.  Guy . . . he . . . regrets how he treated you.  Both of you.  He . . . asked me to come here to let you know that he and his men will be here tomorrow, so you will not be . . . upset if you see him.”

Annie dropped her eyes again.  Without a word, she picked up the lump of dough and began kneading it. Marian waited in silence.

“Thank you,” Annie said dully, still looking down, though she worked the bread with such skill that Marian was certain she could do it blindfolded.  “I’m glad he you . . . and he could spare a thought for us.  After all, you’ll have children of your own soon.”

Marian stared at her, beginning to feel suspicious herself.  What was Annie implying?

“I . . . I am not expecting.”

Still kneading, Annie looked up at her, the expression on her face surprisingly sad.

“Maybe not now, my lady,” she said.  “But you will be.”

With a defeated sigh, Marian looked away.  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Annie focused on her task again, and this time she was silent for so long that Marian turned to leave, assuming she had taken up enough of her time.  It was not until she had her back to Annie, and was about to tell her goodbye, that the other woman spoke.

“It won’t make any difference.  When you are.”

Marian faced her again, wrinkling her brow in confusion.  “What won’t make any difference? To what?”

Now, it was Annie who sighed.  “To Guy and . . . to the sheriff.” Her voice was so quiet that Marian was enticed to move closer.

“What does the sheriff have to with anything?” she asked, lowering her voice to match Annie’s.

She stopped kneading, giving Marian all of her attention.  “If you think a baby will make him choose you over the sheriff, it won’t.  That’s the mistake I made . . . believing he would.”

A thousand differences in their situations presented themselves to Marian’s mind, but she left them all unspoken.  “Listen, Annie,” she began. “I know that Guy has wronged you.  And he knows it too. But he’s . . . there’s another side to him.  You said it yourself.”

As she spoke, she hung her head, suddenly ashamed of using Annie’s words against her. But when she looked up again, she found an inscrutable expression in her eyes.  It looked like pity.

“I know what I said, Lady Gisborne,” she admitted.  “And I still think that’s true.  There is some good in him.  Perhaps he could have been a good man . . . if things had happened differently.”

Marian found hanging on the young woman’s every word.  As she waited for her to go on, it struck her that this  was the first time she had ever discussed Guy with anyone who could claim to know him well.

“When I first learned that I was expecting Seth,” she said.  “I was so happy I could barely do my work.  I knew the situation wasn’t the best, that he would never marry me, but I had wanted a child for as long as I could remember.”

Marian was frozen in place.  A part of her knew that it would do her no good to hear this story, that she should come up with a polite excuse to leave.  But it was no use.

“What happened?” she heard herself ask.

“He looked terrified,” Annie replied.  “I . . . I had never seen him like that.  He asked me if I were sure, and when I told him I was, he made me promise not to tell anyone.”

“But they found out?”

“The head cook saw that I was getting big.  She was furious at first, and threatened to tell the sheriff.  But then I told Guy, and he said that he would speak with her.  She said no more about it, and so I thought I would be safe, but . . .”

Marian’s eyes had gone wide.  Annie must have told her some of this when she helped her all those months before, but it all sounded new to her ears now.

“But . . . Guy tried to help, didn’t he? He didn’t just let her dismiss you?”

Annie gave a bitter scoff.  “Oh, sure.  He protected me until Seth was born.  Then when as I was well enough to go back to work, the cook told me she had already replaced me with another girl on the sheriff’s orders.  I begged to speak to Guy; I sent for him again and again.  But I . . . still haven’t spoken to him again to this day.”

By the end of her speech, Annie’s voice was breaking, and the tears that had been standing in Marian’s eyes began to fall.  The hurt in Annie’s voice had affected her  almost as though this devastation had happened to her.

“I’m so sorry, Annie,” she muttered, impotent.  What could it possibly matter that she was sorry?

Annie lifted a hand, wiping underneath her eyes and leaving a streak of flour on her face.

“I’m . . . sorry, my lady.  I didn’t mean to upset you.  Just . . . don’t trust him.  I’m sure he wants to do the right thing for you.  I think he did even for me.  But he’ll never stand up to the sheriff.  It would be better if he had never met him, but . . .” She trailed off, ending with a shrug.  There was nothing more to be said.

“Please, let me know if you need anything,” Marian said.  Annie gave a slight nod, and went back to kneading the dough.

As she left, Marian realized that she had said “me,” not “us” as she had resolved to do. She felt distant from her husband in a way that not even their fights when she dressed as the Night Watchman had never accomplished.  How could he do nothing to help the mother of his child?

She knew she could not see him until she had thought of what to say.  When she arrived, she told Margery that she had a headache, and would not be down for supper.  Thankfully, this time she only nodded and offered to send to the doctor for a remedy, which Marian declined.

Hours later, she heard the door creak open and the heavy footfalls of Guy’s boots as he entered.  Fortunately, she was already lying on her side with her back to the door.  In truth, deciding what to tell Guy had almost made her lie to the servant true.

“Margery told me you aren’t feeling well,” he said gently.  “I’ll just change and leave you on your own if you don’t feel like talking.”

Marian sighed and sat up. “No, Guy.  I . . . I think we have to talk now.”

She saw that his face was pale and his eyes wide already, so she resolved to speak quickly.

“When I saw Annie today, she . . . told me a lot about her pregnancy.  She . . . I don’t have very many women to talk to and . . . well, I had some questions for her.”

Guy quirked an eyebrow, but waited in silence for her to continue.

“So, some of what she told me . . . scared me and I . . . Listen, I know you want children, Guy.  But I just . . . I don’t think I’m ready.”

Guy watched her now, staring so intently that it seemed to Marian that he was trying to read her mind.

“What did Annie say?” His voice was still soft, but Marian could detect a note of anger that he was trying desperately to control.

“Oh, you know, just . . . women things.”

Guy lifted a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tight. “No, don’t be vague, Marian,” he replied icily.  “Tell me what Annie, who has one son, can tell you that Margery, whom you see every day and who has six, couldn’t.”

Marian’s heart began to race; it was the first time Guy had ever caught her in a lie, and she had no idea how to react.

“I . . . I never thought you would interrogate me about something like this, Guy.” She winced inwardly.  Shaming him made her feel low, but what else could she do?

She glared at him for added emphasis, and he looked down at his hands.

“What did she tell you about me?” he asked, so quietly that she could barely hear him.

“Nothing I didn’t already know.” Only when the words were out did she realized how damning they sounded. She hastily added, “but that’s not the reason for my decision.”

Guy leaned into his hands, covering his eyes with them. “Please don’t lie to me, Marian,” he murmured.

“I’m not, Guy,” she insisted, but even to her own ears the words rang false.

Guy dropped his hands, smirking at her.  “Really? I’m to think that you spoke to a woman who had my baby, and on the same day decided that you don’t want to have my children . . . and the two have nothing to do with each other? What a fool you must think I am.”

“Guy, it’s . . . it’s not like that,” she offered lamely.  It was the truth, but how could she tell him that the real problem was not the idea of having a child at all? She had always assumed she would marry and have children some day.  What was unbearable was the thought of losing her ability to help people, all because of someone who was enthralled by the very person who was oppressing them? She could not tell him that, so the less she said the better.

He waited for her to speak again, but when she said nothing he got up, angrily throwing open the trunk of their bed and snatching his nightclothes.  When he stood up, she intreated him once more.  “Guy . . . please.”

He looked down at her for a moment, a mixture of fury and sorrow in his face, and left.


End file.
